Archive of Our Own

Alex squints through the windshield as he slowly eases the car down the road, like that will make a difference in his ability to resolve anything out of the whiteout in front of him. All he can see at this point are the vague shadows of the trees on either side of the road, so he plants himself equidistant between them and hopes it keeps him from driving into a ditch.

He should have left earlier. He’s very aware of that fact, actually. But he got wrapped up in work when his boss emailed him with a last minute urgent deadline, so he didn’t get out of his house until later than he intended. Plus, the storm came up the mountain more quickly than they predicted, and it turns out it’s snowing harder down here than it was up by his place. So fuck him sideways, apparently.

Normally, Alex loves living up in the mountains. Yeah, his commute into Denver is kind of long, but it gives him some enforced hours of his day to unwind and listen to audiobooks and podcasts. Plus, he’s lucky enough that his boss lets him work from home for long stretches in the winter when the weather is bad.

It’s not usually this bad. They’ve never had a storm like this since Alex has lived here, though he’s heard stories from his neighbors. They all said the same thing: if you didn’t have a good generator and lots of fuel, you better get your ass off the mountain fast or risk getting stuck for who knows how long. Alex had intended to heed their wisdom, truly.

But. The road to hell, and all that.

This feels like the road to hell, if hell had frozen over. His car has snow tires but that doesn’t really matter when the drifts are already piling up in the hairpin turns. His hands ache from death gripping the steering wheel. His jaw aches too. He should have realized this wasn’t going to work and holed up in his house, but it’s too late now—there’s nowhere to turn around on these roads. The only way out is down.

It’s hard to tell how far he’s come, or how much further he has before he hits a paved road, though he knows deep down that it hasn’t been that long. Has he even passed the mailbox by—

Something moves in the periphery of his vision, and before he can react a huge buck leaps into the road in front of his car. He’s not going fast—barely above a crawl, really—but even so, his reflexive slamming of his brakes sends him into a fishtail. He’s got no idea where the edge of the road is, nor could he avoid it if he did. Then, with a sickening tip and a crunch, his car careens sideways into a ditch.

For a long moment he just sits there, his pulse hammering too hard in his ears. On the road, he can just make out the buck in his headlights, still standing and watching like this is entertaining.

He knows, before he even tries to put the car in reverse, that there’s no way he’s getting out of here on his own.

“Fuck,” he says into the stillness of the car, slamming the butt of his palm against the steering wheel for punctuation. “Fuck fucking fuck.”

The deer snorts and slowly meanders into the shadows of the forest. Alex closes his eyes.

He’d done a ton of research about survival stuff when he moved up here. Fell down a veritable warren of rabbit holes. So he knows that you should stay in your car. He’s got some blankets and food stashed away. But—this isn’t some heavily traveled road that will get plowed in a day or two. It could be a week or more before anyone else comes down it. And he knows this area pretty well, and knows that there are lots of houses crammed up here in the woods. Houses with wood stoves and pantries of food. Sure, he’ll probably have to break in because all of them are smarter than him and left long ago, but it might work.

He looks down at his phone, the paltry cell signal weakened to a single bar that flickers in and out. Enough to tease him, but not enough to connect to emergency services.

When he looks up again, he catches sight of something red glinting in the beam of his headlights not far in front of his car. The snow is almost completely obscuring it, but he swears it’s not a hallucination. Maybe just a reflector on a post by the road. But maybe a reflector on a mailbox.

Cursing under his breath, he rustles for the duffle bag of clothes he hastily threw together and slings it over his arm before he climbs out of the car. The drifts of snow swallow his leg up almost to the knee when he plants his foot on the ground, and he knows his ratty hiking boots are not going to be up to the task of keeping his feet warm as he wades through this. He has to try, though. If he dies up here in a snowbank, he’ll never fucking hear the end of it from June.

At least the snow is light and fluffy. That unfortunately means it’s bitterly cold, but it’s not hard to move through it, despite the depth. He hunches over against the stinging bite of the snow and wind on the slivers of exposed skin on his face and starts trudging in the direction of the red glint, swinging the beam of his emergency flashlight in the hopes of picking it up again. He doesn’t go more than ten feet before the glint becomes more solid, and finally resolves into, yes, a mailbox. Thank fuck. There are letters on the side that he can’t quite make out until he gets closer.

A name: FOX.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex shouts into the white void. The snow muffles most of the sound. Of all the fucking people.

Alex knows and gets along with most of his neighbors on the mountain. It’s a small, tight-knit community that looks out for each other. That does not include Henry fucking Fox. Henry Fox thinks he’s better than all the rest of them because he lives in a massive, ancient manor built up here by some railroad tycoon in the 1800s. Henry Fox almost never comes to their community meetings, and if he does, it’s to sit in the corner and stare disapprovingly around the room with a pinched look on his face. Henry Fox doesn’t allow any of his neighbors to hike through his land—Alex does it anyway, because it’s hard to get around it, but he flips off the “No Trespassing” signs every time. Henry Fox is gorgeous, and impossibly stand-offish, and he makes Alex’s blood boil every time they’re in the same room.

At least he won’t be home. Alex will relish breaking into that too-fucking-large house.

Fox’s driveway is long enough that he can’t see the house from the road, but it’s easy to follow it as it winds through the trees. Halfway along, Alex’s feet have turned into blocks of ice. His fingertips are going numb in his high-performance gloves. But he shoulders the duffle a bit higher and trudges on.

When he finally rounds the last turn and the house comes into view, he stops dead. The lights are on in a couple of the rooms on the ground floor. Surely, not even Henry Fox would leave lights on when he left. Which means that Henry Fox is still in residence.

Alex would turn around if he could feel his legs.

It’s fine, he tries to convince himself as he resumes his trudging toward the house. Not even Henry Fox would deny a fellow human shelter in a storm. Probably. He might make an exception for Alex. And the place is certainly big enough; Alex will unhappily beg his salvation, then spend his time as far away as possible.

Alex half stumbles up the few stairs of the front porch, nearly collapsing against the door. Ok, it was a dumb idea to think he could have stumbled around in the snow for very long looking for shelter, and he’s damned lucky that this place was so close. It’s an effort to raise his arm, but he manages it, bringing his fist down as hard as he can against the wood in a dull thump thump thump.

He waits. It’s probably ten seconds, but it feels like ten minutes. He pounds on the door again. He’s still in the middle of pounding on the door when it opens suddenly, spilling him into the front hall along with a drift of snow.

“Bloody hell,” Fox curses above him, then Alex feels himself being dragged further into the house. A moment later, the sound of the whistling wind is muffled as the door closes behind him. “Are you alright? Can you move?”

Alex groans and manages to roll onto his back, finding Fox crouched next to him when he cracks his eyes open. The expression of worry on Fox’s face—vibrant blue eyes are wide and brow furrowed—is one Alex has never seen on him. With some effort, Alex reaches up and tugs down the gaiter covering the bottom of his face.

“Wow. You actually look like you care about another human being,” Alex croaks.

Fox’s expression shutters when he sees who he’s just admitted to his house, and he frowns deeply. “Alex. Always a pleasure. What in blazes were you doing out in this storm?”

“Trying to drive down the mountain. But I ended up in a ditch.” It hurts to admit to Fox, especially when he rolls his eyes at Alex’s idiocy, but the truth seems like his best option. “You were the closest house. Believe me, if I could have gone anywhere else, I would have.”

“Christ, even half dead you’re impossible,” Fox mutters under his breath. “Come on, we’ve got to get you out of these wet things before you catch a chill.”

“‘A chill,’ he says,” Alex huffs, but he does try to at least lever himself into a sitting position. “I think it’d be a bit worse than a chill, sweetheart.”

Fox makes a strangled sound, and when Alex looks over, his cheeks are red. Probably with the frustration of dealing with Alex. And look, Alex knows he probably shouldn’t antagonize the one person who’s currently responsible for saving his life right now, but he can’t help it. There’s something absolutely delectable about the flush that takes over Fox’s face when Alex talks back to him.

Fox glares at him for good measure as he tries to tug Alex’s thick coat off his arms. “Yes, well, given that, are you going to mouth off, or are you going to help?”

“Nothing says I can’t do both.”

“Clearly, your bout in the snow hasn’t frozen your tongue,” Fox bites back. Leaving the rest of the coat removal to Alex, he shifts down to Alex’s feet.

Alex does not get caught up watching long, graceful fingers work at the snow-caked knots of his boots. Too late, he realizes Fox was still talking. “Huh?”

Fox lets out a huff. “I asked why you waited so long to try to leave.”

“The forecast was wrong,” Alex protests. “Why are you still here?”

“I’ve a brand new generator, and David doesn’t like traveling,” Fox says as he tugs one of Alex’s boots off. He looks up briefly, and when Alex turns to follow his line of sight, he sees a beagle sitting politely a few feet away, his tail wagging in excitement. “I figured we’d tough it out. Good thing, apparently. What were you going to do if I wasn’t here?”

“Break in,” Alex says bluntly.

Fox gives him a censorious look, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows that there’d be no other option. “Well. Lucky for you, there’s a fire going in the den. Come on, then.”

Having pulled Alex’s boots off and placed them neatly on a rack by the door, Fox moves back to Alex’s side and grabs his arm as if to help him up. Alex, however, doesn’t need any fucking help, so he shakes Fox off and shoves himself to his feet.

Then almost immediately topples over again as painful pins and needles shoot up his legs when he tries to put weight on his feet. Fuck, they got colder than he thought. He lets out a yelp of pain as strong arms wrap around his midsection, keeping him from collapsing to the floor.

“Steady on,” Fox says, his voice low and soothing in a way that should not make something warm spark in Alex’s gut. “Are you injured?”

“‘M fine,” Alex insists through gritted teeth, even though he can’t peel himself away from Fox’s support. “Feet are just cold.”

“Let’s get you to that fire, then. Or—a lukewarm bath? I’m not sure what the proper procedure is.”

“Fire’s fine,” Alex says, reluctantly letting Fox guide him into a spacious living room. Sorry—the den.

He has to admit, the word fits. Despite the size of it, the room has a cozy feel, the walls papered in a forest green set off by rich, dark wooden trim. Packed bookshelves line several of the walls, full of ancient-looking volumes. The windows are trimmed with velvet curtains and the furnishings look antique, which Alex would like to give Henry shit about, but he can’t imagine anything else fitting here. A fire crackles in the large stone hearth, and Alex can already feel the warmth of it on his face as they get closer. Fox leaves him standing—only a little unsteadily—in front of it as he shoves a heavy arm chair closer, then moves to help Alex sit.

This, Alex refuses again, having regained most of the sensation in his feet by now, even if they’re still aching from the reaction to the cold. Rebuffed, Fox bustles off to fetch him a blanket. It’s odd and unexpected, being taken care of like this by someone who’s never given him the time of day before, and Alex doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“Can I get you something warm to drink?” Fox asks. “Tea? Hot chocolate? I’m afraid I don’t keep coffee stocked, but it is rather late anyway—”

“Tea’s fine,” Alex interrupts. Honestly he’d rather not ask anything from Fox, but that ship sailed a while ago, and he could probably use the extra warmth.

Mercifully, Henry doesn’t try to engage him in conversation or interrogate his poor life choices when he returns several minutes later. He simply deposits a mug on a table near Alex’s chair and retreats, saying something about having to check on the bedrooms before he flees. As Alex sips his tea, David comes over and lays down by his feet, staring up at Alex like he’s keeping an eye on him for his master.

“I suppose I have you to thank for this,” Alex says to the dog. David tilts his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

Seemingly in response to that, David gently lays his head down on Alex’s feet. Friendly dog. Shame about the owner.

Fox still hasn’t returned by the time Alex has finished his tea and his appendages have mostly returned to normal. The clock on the mantel reveals that it is quite late, so Alex gets to his feet, finds his duffle bag where he dropped it in the front entry, and starts meandering down the hall, peeking his head into various rooms. The first floor seems to be largely the kind of living spaces you only find in a mansion like this—a parlor containing a baby grand piano, a library, a massive office, an expansive dining room. It’s hard to imagine living in a place like this by yourself, all these large empty rooms and no one to fill them.

In the dining room, what looks to be an actual oil painting hangs on one wall, a portrait of a family with three young children. There’s something almost familiar about the father, with his chiseled jaw and blond hair, but Alex can’t quite place him.

He’s staring at the painting when Fox finds him, clearing his throat to announce his presence. There’s a complicated look on Fox’s face when Alex turns, and he glances up at the painting, but he doesn’t offer any information about it. Alex doesn’t ask.

“I can show you to the bedrooms upstairs, if you’re done poking around,” Fox offers.

“I wasn’t—” Alex starts to protest, but—he was, actually. He adjusts his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Yeah, sure.”

They walk in silence up a grand staircase in the middle of the house and Fox pauses at the top, a long hall extending in either direction dotted with numerous doors.

“There are seven bedrooms,” Fox explains. “All the beds have clean linens, though I warn you that no one’s used these rooms for quite some time.”

“Where are you sleeping?” Alex asks.

Fox gives him a bemused look, but points to the left. “In the master bedroom at the end of the hall.”

“Right,” Alex says, then turns on his heel and walks down the hall to the right.

“Er, you’ll stay warmer at this end of the house, nearer the fire,” Fox calls after him.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine,” Alex says without glancing back. He walks until he runs out of hallway and chooses the room farthest away from Fox’s.

He’s pretty sure it’s the only way he’ll stay sane for the duration of the storm.

Day 1

Alex has to reluctantly admit that Fox might have had a point. The room at the far right end of the hall proved to be drafty and cold, and he’d been kept awake most of the night by wind whistling in a loose window pane and the old house creaking around him. The sun hasn’t so much come up as the sky has lightened almost imperceptibly as the storm continues outside, so Alex finally gives up on the bed, drags on an old Georgetown sweatshirt, and shuffles downstairs in search of warmth.

It’s early, so he’s surprised to find that Fox has already been up and about: there’s a note in the kitchen next to the still-warm kettle inviting him to help himself to the pantry for breakfast. Fox’s cupboards are fairly well stocked, but heavily trend toward cans of soup and meal kits in boxes. Alex finds a loaf of whole grain bread and some kind of fancy jam in the fridge and fixes himself some toast while he steeps a cup of tea and laments the fact he’s going to be coffee-less for several days. What kind of heathen lives without coffee?

After he polishes off his breakfast, he heads to the den, but Fox isn’t there either. And, well, Alex isn’t about to go looking for him. He reclaims the armchair he’d used last night, curling up with his phone to check his email and the forecast. He’d managed to remember to send a message to June last night telling her he’d ended up stranded on the mountain and not to wait up for him, and had gotten several somewhat frantic responses demanding to know exactly where he ended up and if she needs to send a rescue party, so he spends some time putting out that fire first. He’s not sure how much time passes before the quiet jingle of a dog collar alerts him that he’s no longer alone.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Fox says, a kind of strained note in his voice like he’d hoped Alex might have vanished overnight. “Did you, er, find some breakfast?”

“Yup,” Alex replies, barely glancing up from his phone.

A beat of silence passes, as if Fox expects him to say more. When he doesn’t, Fox says, “Right, well, I’ll just be working down the hall in the office, then. Let me know if you need anything?”

“Yup.”

Fox hesitates only a second more before he retreats with David at his heels.

They spend most of the rest of the day avoiding each other. It’s not just Alex—whenever Fox spots him, he quickly turns and goes the other direction, and there are so many rooms in this place that it’s easy to stay away. Which is just fine with Alex. He digs out his laptop and tries to get some work done, though he finds it hard to focus with the knowledge that Fox is lurking somewhere, haunting the empty rooms like a ghost. A thousand questions tumble through his mind about the house and how Fox ended up living here, but he’d feel weird asking, and he kinda thinks Fox wouldn’t tell him, anyway.

Around lunch time, he scrounges up the makings of a sandwich in the kitchen. Fox never appears, but David shows up to beg for scraps of meat and cheese at his feet.

“Don’t tell your dad,” Alex murmurs to him, also giving him a scratch behind the ear.

He drinks buckets of tea, hoping to dull the beginnings of a coffee withdrawal headache, and still somehow takes a nap curled up in the big armchair in the den. When he wakes up, the skies have shifted from merely dark to black, and the smell of something burning hits his nose. That sends him rocketing to alertness as he looks frantically around, expecting to see an ember jumped from the fire and ignited something, but everything remains safely behind the grate in the hearth.

The burning, it turns out, is coming from the kitchen.

“Bloody hell,” Fox mutters under his breath, his back to Alex, as he opens the oven and a puff of smoke erupts from within. He waves futilely at it with a towel, trying to disperse it.

“Problems?” Alex drawls, leaning in the door jamb, and Fox jumps a mile.

“Oh, Christ. I didn’t know you were there,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest.

“You should probably get whatever that is,” Alex suggests, nodding to the open oven where smoke is still trailing out.

Fox huffs and turns back to the oven to retrieve a pan that seems to contain some kind of casserole with an extremely charred top. “Apologies for all the smoke,” he says as Alex waves a hand in front of his face. He sighs deeply. “I’d say I’m usually not this hopeless, but I’m afraid that would be a lie.”

“So you regularly nearly burn down your fancy historic house?”

Fox shoots him an unamused look. “Regularly, I don’t bother. Most of what I cook could  more properly be called reheating.”

“And today is different because?” Alex asks.

“I have company,” Fox scoffs, like it should be obvious. Like he invited Alex here, rather than Alex crashing through his door half frozen to death.

“You let me fend for myself all day,” he points out.

“Yes, but this is dinner, and I thought…” Fox trails off, shaking his head. “Oh, nevermind.”

Yeah, Alex isn’t letting him off the hook that easily. “You thought…?”

“I thought perhaps one of us should make an effort if we’re going to be bloody well stuck here for who knows how long,” Fox says flatly.

“I’m… touched?” Alex says, but he finds himself smiling, even moreso when Fox huffs a laugh and shakes his head again.

“Well, it’s all for naught,” Fox says, gesturing helplessly to the pan. “This is an utter disaster.”

Despite the fact that he really shouldn’t care that much about Fox’s kitchen foibles, Alex is drawn into the room and over to Fox’s side. Grabbing a fork, he pokes at the casserole—something like a shepherd’s pie, it seems—and finds it cold in the middle to go with the burned top. “I don’t think it’s a lost cause,” he offers. “If we scrape off the burned bits and turn down the oven, let it bake for longer, it should be mostly salvageable.”

“We?”

Alex glances up and finds Fox looking at him with an amused, hesitant expression. He’s also far too close. Alex can count every one of the long, pale lashes around those big blue eyes.

Alex clears his throat as he takes a step back. “Yeah, I mean. If I’m gonna have to eat this too, I’m invested in making sure it won’t kill me.”

“Truly, your selflessness is unparalleled,” Fox says dryly, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

“Look, Fox, do you want my help or not?” Alex shoots back, trying to sound annoyed when he can’t quite hold onto the feeling. This is probably the most they’ve ever spoken in one go, and it’s strangely easy between them.

“No, no, please, I beg of you,” Fox demurs, holding up his hands in surrender. “And you can call me Henry, you know.”

Alex doesn’t know if he can, actually. He might like it too much. “Alright, Henry,” he says, and doesn’t miss the way his host’s cheeks turn pink, “let’s fix this dinner.”

It’s not that bad, in the end. The filling needs a hell of a lot more seasoning, but it is edible, and doesn’t even slightly endanger his life. Alex was afraid they were going to have to sit in the dining room at that huge table, but they eat in a little nook off the kitchen. They don’t talk much, but Alex has to admit it’s oddly nice. Even when they go their separate ways after dinner, it doesn’t have the same strained feeling that hung over everything before.

That night, Alex moves his stuff out of the freezing room and into the next one down the hall. The decor leaves something to be desired—lots of pastel pink and ornate gold-painted furniture—but he can tell right away it’s warmer and much less drafty. Satisfied with his new choice, he bundles himself into bed and reads on his phone for a while before he finally drifts off.

Day 2

“How is it still snowing?” Alex asks as he stumbles into the kitchen the next morning.

This time, Henry is still there, fixing his tea as he stares out of the window at the falling snow. Alex doesn’t want to know how deep it is out there by now. He thought the storm would have passed, but it’s like it’s hung up on the mountain.

“Is this your first one of these storms?” Henry asks, turning to look at him.

“First one this big,” Alex confirms. “Have you been in one before?”

Henry nods slowly as he fidgets with the tag on his tea bag. “A couple of times now. My first one, I was just a child and thought it was such an adventure being snowed in for days. I’m sure my parents had a less rosy view of the situation.”

Alex wasn’t expecting that. He’d known Henry was here before he moved in, but he assumed he was still a newcomer to the area, like Alex. “You’ve lived here that long?”

“Not steadily,” Henry says. “Our permanent residence was England, but we were here pretty much any time school was on holiday. My father fell in love with this area when he filmed a movie here, and bought the house as a vacation home.”

“Your father…” Alex trails off, his mind spinning. Fox. The man in the painting that looked so familiar. The Bond movie that filmed at a ski resort on the next mountain over. “Wait—is your dad Arthur Fox?”

Henry’s eyebrows lift slightly. “I assumed you already knew. Most people around here do.”

“Well no one told me,” Alex huffs. “Fucking—I can’t believe this. I’m staying in James Bond’s mountain retreat?”

“If you want to put it like that, yes,” Henry says, smiling.

“So, how long have you been living here full time?”

Henry’s smile dims. “Since not long after he passed. My family—well, my grandmother—wanted to sell it, saying it was a money pit and there’d be no need for it. And maybe she had a point, but my father loved it so much, I couldn’t bear to let it go. He left the property to me and my siblings, and I convinced them to keep it, that I would live here and take care of it. So after I finished uni, I moved.”

“Huh,” Alex says, a little absently, as he thinks. “So that’s why you’re so protective of this area.”

“Yes,” Henry confirms. He tips his head a bit, chin jutting out defiantly. “I know it doesn’t win me any fans, but this mountain is special, and I’ve no desire to see it parceled out into increasingly smaller chunks and more forest cut down so people can cram more houses up here.”

“Like my house,” Alex deduces. He lives in a smaller, new construction, only one previous owner. It had seemed like a dream when he found it, but he’d never stopped to consider how it had come to be for sale.

Henry drops his gaze to his tea for a moment before he looks up again. “Well, yes. But I think I owe you an apology. I resented the Millers for selling off that parcel to a real estate developer, I resented the houses they built for what they stood for, and so I resented you as well when you bought one. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I get it, really,” Alex says, and he does. He’d probably feel the same way; he hasn’t even lived here that long, and he already feels protective of the forest around them. “But thank you. I’m sorry I was an asshole back at you. I know it didn’t exactly help your opinion of me.”

“Yes, well, now I know better,” Henry says, one of the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “You’re loud, opinionated, arrogant… and you can cook.”

That surprises a laugh out of Alex. “Is that all it takes to turn your opinion around? Saving dinner?”

Funny, since Henry’s sad attempt at cooking for him was the very thing that started to turn the tide on Alex’s views. Making an effort happens to mean a lot to him, as it turns out. Even if you think it might not turn out perfectly. Maybe especially then.

“It certainly didn’t hurt,” Henry allows, grinning now. He reaches across the kitchen island for the bag of sliced bread, probably intending to make toast, and before Alex knows what he’s doing, he reaches out and stops Henry by grabbing his wrist.

They both stare at his hand for a second, then Alex withdraws it quickly, feeling uncannily like he’s been slightly singed.

“In that case, why don’t you let me make breakfast today?” he offers.

Henry’s eyes go slightly wide. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” Alex interrupts, a little too honestly. Then he adds, “For my own sake. And you can have some, too.”

“Alright then,” Henry laughs. “In that case, don’t allow me to impede your venture.”

“You talk like a Victorian dandy sometimes, you know that?” Alex huffs as he pulls open the fridge and looks inside. They’re well stocked with eggs and milk, it seems, as well as bread. Classic storm prep. “How does French toast sound?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Alex looks back and catches Henry smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and something fizzles under his sternum.

Probably just heartburn from dinner last night.

Breakfast with Henry is surprisingly nice. They talk more about the history of the house, about how visits here were some of Henry’s favorite parts about his childhood, and Alex teases him about his sad pantry and paltry collection of spices. Despite the constraints, Alex turns out a mean stack of French toast, and feels no kind of way about how complimentary Henry is about his cooking.

Henry still retreats to his study after they clean up, but it feels less like he’s avoiding Alex now and more like he just wants to get some work done. Understandable. Alex needs to work, too; apparently, the storm passed without much fanfare in Denver proper, and his firm’s work has hurried along without him at its usual frenetic clip, so he’s got catching up to do.

Meanwhile, the snow continues to fall all day in the mountains. It’s not blizzard conditions anymore, but it is accumulating. The path that Henry had dug out into the backyard for David to do his business is rapidly becoming a canyon. Occasionally, Alex looks up from his laptop and stares at the fat flakes drifting by the windows of the den as he works, wondering when the fuck it’s going to let up and just how long he’s going to be stuck here.

For the first time since he arrived, that prospect no longer fills him with dread.

Then, late in the afternoon, after the sun has already sunk behind the mountain, the power flickers once, twice, and then winks out. Alex blinks in the sudden darkness, but he barely has a chance to process what’s happened before there’s a distant rumble and the generator kicks on. A second after the lights come back on, Henry appears in the doorway, and at Alex’s feet, David lifts his head and thunks his tail against the floor (Alex absolutely does not have a corresponding reaction to the sight of him, his tawny hair ruffled like someone’s been running their hands through it). 

“It seems the power lines have finally hit their limit,” Henry says.

“Or a tree branch somewhere has,” Alex reasons. “I hope you’ve got plenty of fuel.”

“More than enough to last for quite some time,” Henry confirms. “It’s hooked into the underground tank, same as the heating. That said, we should probably consider conserving energy so my fuel bill isn’t completely astronomical.”

Alex doesn’t point out that it must already be astronomical, at least by his reckoning, given the size of the house. Instead, he says, “Yeah, that’s fair,” and wonders if Henry wants him to move somewhere.

“Good. Well, I’ll just…” Henry trails off, a little awkwardly, and then he disappears for a minute before returning with his own laptop. He settles into another ornate armchair not far away. “Is this alright?” he asks, frowning. Alex realizes he’s been staring. “I’d rather not disturb you, but it makes the most sense for us to both work in here, with the fireplace—”

“It’s fine,” Alex interrupts. “I don’t mind. Also, it’s your house. I’m pretty sure you can work wherever you want.”

“Only trying to be polite,” Henry says wryly. “You are my guest, after all.”

“Your unwanted guest,” Alex argues.

Henry lets out a little huff of amusement as his cheeks turn pink in the lamplight, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head. “Uninvited, perhaps. But not unwanted.”

The little burst of gratification Alex gets at that statement is as surprising as it is intense. Not that—it doesn’t mean anything. Everyone wants to be wanted. There’s no reason for Alex to feel particularly strongly about Henry being the one to want him around.

“You should probably let me make dinner tonight,” Alex says after a brief stretch of silence. Henry glances up from his computer. “Y’know. For safety’s sake.”

“Oh, bugger off,” Henry huffs, laughing through his glare as he shakes his head. Then his expression softens. “You don’t have to repay me for letting you stay by cooking, you know. You don’t have to do anything at all.”

Alex doesn’t know how to say that he’s not built like that, that he can’t stand the thought of not being useful. That he can’t stand the thought of Henry thinking he’s not useful. And, strangely, it has nothing to do with wanting to prove Henry wrong. Maybe it never has.

“Like I said, it’s purely selfish so I make it through this alive,” he lies. When Henry rolls his eyes—too fondly, probably—he amends, “I enjoy cooking. Keeps me from going stir crazy. So really, you’re still doing me a favor.”

Henry looks at him with a gentle smile on his face like he can see right through Alex’s bluster. Somehow, it’s less uncomfortable than it should be. “Alright, then. I cede the kitchen to your expertise, if you insist.”

“I do.”

That night, they stay up later than they probably should, talking in front of the fire. But it’s not like they have anywhere to be, and Alex finds he’s not quite ready to say goodnight.

When they finally do head upstairs, Henry cocks his head at Alex’s destination.

“Are you moving rooms again?”

So he noticed, then. “Yeah, sorry,” Alex says, a little guiltily. “That room was a lot warmer, but, uh—smells like an old lady?”

To his surprise, Henry laughs. “I’m afraid you found the room my horrible grandmother stayed in when she came to visit. Which has only been once, mind you, but she leaves a lingering impression. I’ve tried to air it out multiple times without much success.”

“Ok, well, I’m definitely moving now,” Alex says, wrinkling his nose.

And so Alex gathers his stuff and shifts one room down the hall.

One room closer to Henry.

Day 3

Alex is woken by bright sunlight streaming through the window, which he curses before he realizes that it means the snow has finally stopped.

He scrambles out of bed and peers outside, blinking owlishly as he tries to pick out landmarks in the nearly featureless white landscape. From here, he thinks he should be able to see a bit of the road where it twists around the mountainside, but there’s no sign of it.

He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved by the confirmation that it’ll still be some time before he’ll be able to leave.

When he makes his way downstairs, he finds Henry curled up in front of the fire with a cup of tea and a book, so lost in his reading that he doesn’t notice Alex’s arrival. For a long moment Alex stands there in the doorway to the den, drinking him in—the way his hair falls over his forehead, the slight pout of his full lips in concentration, the way his long elegant fingers curl around the book, the way his sweater clings to his shoulders and his chest and his arms. Alex has always known Henry Fox was an attractive man, but somehow he seems to have grown even hotter over the past couple of days. Truly, he can’t be a real person. 

Alex doesn’t think he makes a sound, but David’s head jerks up and he launches to his feet, trotting over to Alex for pets, and Henry looks up at the sudden movement. Smiles when he sees Alex there, the corners of his eyes crinkling up like he’s genuinely pleased with Alex’s company, and Alex’s stomach swoops.

“Good morning, Alex. Sleep better?”

“Er, yeah, definitely.” Alex says. “Only—the bed was a little lumpy?”

Henry looks politely amused, but also like he knows what Alex is up to. “Lumpy, you say?”

“Yeah, I might move again. To the next room down.” Alex scratches at the back of his neck. He’s not sure why he’s lying, only that moving another room down brings him closer to Henry. The room next door, in fact. His face feels hot. “Sorry. I can do the extra laundry.”

“Not to worry,” Henry says easily. “I don’t get a lot of guests, as you might imagine. Probably best to give all the linens a good washing anyway.”

“It stopped snowing,” Alex points out, eager to change the subject.

Henry glances toward the front window. “It did. I was thinking we might take a walk later. Get some fresh air.”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot upward. “In snow this deep?”

“I’ve got snow shoes,” Henry says. “Several pairs. And extra winter gear, though it might be a little long on you.”

“Fuck off,” Alex says automatically. Henry bites down on a grin. “Yeah, ok, that sounds like it could be nice. But what about David?”

“Ah,” Henry says, eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry about him. He has his very own sled.”

They go out after breakfast, bundled up in brightly colored ski pants and jackets. Despite living up here for a couple of years now, Alex has never actually been skiing, and only snowshoeing once. People usually look at him like he’s got two heads when he admits this, but he just doesn’t have much time for winter sports. So he feels a little unstable, despite the wide base of the shoes, and that feeling is not helped by seeing Henry moving around like he was born to it, his own gear fitting like a glove, pants clinging sinfully to his ass and thighs as he bends down to arrange a blanket in the shallow plastic sled.

David, clad in a jacket and booties that match Henry’s, leaps into the sled and settles in immediately, obviously well used to this activity. And when Henry stands upright and turns to Alex with a wide smile, he’s blinded by more than just the sun on the snow.

Fortunately, Alex doesn’t make too much of a fool of himself, only wobbling a couple of times. They take a walk down the driveway and find Alex’s car—or, more accurately, the mound of snow covering it.

“You really tried to drive down the mountain in this?” Henry asks as they try to dig off enough of the snow to make it clear there’s a hazard to avoid in case someone tries to venture down the road.

“Look, I don’t need a reminder of how stupid that was, ok?” Alex shoots back, though he’s less irritated by Henry’s gentle ribbing than he might have expected to be. “In my defense, it wasn’t as bad at my house yet.”

“Next time, just come stay with me in the first place,” Henry suggests, then seems to realize how crazy that suggestion sounds in the context of their previous relationship. Sure, it sounds like a reasonable idea now. He clears his throat, looking off across the landscape. Alex can’t read his expression under large reflective sunglasses. “That is, if you don’t want to leave the mountain. I understand that was probably your goal.”

“Yeah, I mean, that was the plan, but that would have meant sleeping on my sister’s couch in Denver for god knows how long,” Alex says. “This is definitely more comfortable.”

Henry’s lips twitch into a smirk. Alex tries not to stare at the mole by the corner of them and fails. Thankfully, his own eyes are also hidden behind reflective glasses.

“Even with a lumpy bed?”

Alex huffs a laugh that billows out in a cloud of frozen condensation. “Even then.”

“You’re a bit like Goldilocks, you know. No bed is quite right,” Henry teases. “Or perhaps the princess and the pea.”

“Shut up,” Alex returns. “If anyone is Goldilocks or a princess, it’s you, clearly.”

“Mm,” Henry hums, in that way that makes it clear he’s not ceding the point to Alex. To be fair, it wasn’t his best work at an argument, even if Henry’s stupid blond hair is glinting in the sun like spun gold where it’s peeking out from under his hat. Something about Henry looking at him like that, all smug and confident, is throwing him entirely off balance.

“Besides, Goldilocks did find the comfortable bed eventually.”

Henry’s eyebrow arches up above the sunglasses. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep looking, then.”

By the time they get back to the house, peel out of all their extra layers, and eat lunch, it’s well into the afternoon. Alex hasn’t done a lick of work, and he can’t bring himself to care. Even when they both settle into the den with their laptops, Alex can’t focus. He’d insisted Henry wouldn’t be a distraction, but he keeps finding his gaze drawn across the room whenever he pauses to think. And then whatever problem he was contemplating is swiftly overrun by thoughts of full lips and blue eyes and soft hair. Several times, Henry’s caught him staring, and though Alex quickly looks away, he’s pretty sure his growing crush is visible from space.

“What are you working on?” he asks eventually, unable to keep his desire to reach out penned up any longer. Henry’s been alternating between typing furiously and staring at his screen, his lower lip pinched between his teeth as he frowns.

“Oh,” Henry says, inexplicably blushing at this question. “Nothing really. Poetry.”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re a poet? How did I not know that?”

“I don’t speak about it much,” Henry admits. “But yes. I’m supposed to be working on a new collection. Only, I’ve been rather stuck. Until recently.”

“Can I read one of them?”

Alex thinks this is a pretty reasonable question, but Henry sputters and actually slams his laptop shut.

“Not these,” he says quickly. He clears his throat as he stands. “That is, these are still too rough. I’ll… fetch you one of my earlier collections, if you like?”

Which is how Alex finds himself buried in a book of poetry instead of the briefs he should be working on, utterly entranced by the words on the page. He’s pretty sure the last time he read a poem before this was grade school, but these— Henry had given him a volume of poems inspired by the mountains in different seasons, and the way he captures everything from the icy beauty of winter to the riot of flowers and birdsong in spring is nothing short of stunning.

“These are amazing,” he says later. He can’t even try to play it cool or tease Henry about any of it. In fact, he’s feeling very frustrated by his own inability to fully capture what they meant to him. He’s usually very good with words, but Henry leaves him feeling nearly illiterate. 

“Oh, you don’t have to say so—” Henry demurs.

“Do you have another collection I can read?” Alex interrupts.

Henry stares at him like he can’t quite believe it, then nods slowly. “If you’d like.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, too honest by half. “I really would.”

Day 4

Alex is fucking freezing.

He wakes up bundled in every blanket and comforter available, and yet he still can’t get warm. This hasn’t been an issue, even in the drafty room the first night, so he’s pretty sure it can’t be the room unless he somehow managed to open a window in his sleep. As he slowly becomes more conscious of his surroundings, he realizes something is missing: the steady thrum of the generator engine.

He swings his feet over the side of the bed and hisses when they hit the icy cold hardwood floor. Scrambling for his clothing, he bundles up in several sweaters and more than one pair of socks, then stumbles out of his room and downstairs. It’s more pleasant down here thanks to the fire roaring in the den and one kindled in the small wood stove tucked into a corner of the kitchen. 

Clearly, Henry’s been up, but Alex can’t find him anywhere. He even goes back upstairs, but Henry’s room—which he only peeks into—is also empty. Alex is baffled. He can’t have gone anywhere.

Just when he’s making plans to bundle up in winter gear and try to launch some kind of search, the back door swings open and Henry comes bustling in, stomping the snow off his boots as he tugs off his gloves and hat.

“Generator’s buggered,” he huffs, grimacing.

Alex’s eyes go wide. “That’s bad.”

“Yes, Alex, it is,” Henry snaps, then winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Alex says. He understands. It’s a fucking stressful situation. “What’s wrong with it?”

Henry lets out a weary sigh. “I haven’t a bloody clue. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about engines, would you?”

Alex scrunches up his face. “Not a fucking thing.”

“Right,” Henry groans. “Well, thankfully we have plenty of wood, and we can still cook on the gas hob—”

“Wait, you’re not suggesting we stay here, are you?” Alex interrupts.

Henry blinks at him. “Sorry, you’re not suggesting we try to leave?”

“We’ve got no power, Henry. And the storm’s stopped now.”

“And we’re still much better off sheltering here where we at least have some heat and food,” Henry argues.

“But—”

“No, Alex,” Henry snaps. “Your foolish attempt to get down the mountain the first time almost cost you your life. I don’t care how desperate you are to get away from me, I’ll not have you taking those risks for no goddamned reason.”

Alex’s mouth shuts with a click, his face flaming hot with embarrassment as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I know it wasn’t very smart, ok?” he mumbles.

Henry’s hard expression fractures, and he winces. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you foolish. That was uncalled for.”

“I mean, you weren’t wrong,” Alex forces himself to admit, curling in on himself more. “But I’m not trying to get away from you. I’m just… scared, I guess. I haven’t ever been trapped like this before.”

He’s staring at the ground, so he doesn’t realize Henry’s getting closer until two hands land on either side of his bent elbows, squeezing lightly. Alex looks up into kind blue eyes and feels his breath catch in his throat.

“We’ll be perfectly fine, I promise,” Henry says gently. “A little chilly, but no worse for the wear. And if you get very cold, you can always cuddle with David.”

Alex just barely bites back, but what if I want to cuddle with you?

If they’re going to be trapped here for who knows how long, the last thing they need is Alex making things weird. He nods and takes a step back, carefully extracting himself from Henry’s grip and immediately missing the warmth of his hands. A complicated expression twists across Henry’s face, one that Alex has no hope of interpreting, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come, a tentative smile taking residence in its place.

“So, are you going to stay put, or do I need to tie you down?”

Alex chokes on nothing. “Nope. I’ll stay.”

No matter how much his tumultuous feelings about Henry make him want to run screaming into the snow.

He starts to doubt this plan by the afternoon, when he can’t get comfortable no matter what. If he sits close to the fire, he ends up blasted with heat on one side and still cold on the other. Retreating to a less scorching distance means his fingers start going numb. They have no internet, and the only place he can eke out enough cell service to send an email is in the very northwest corner of the upstairs, about as far from the heat as you can get.

He stiffly taps out an email to his firm, explaining his situation as best he can and hoping there won’t be too many fires to put out once he finally gets out of this.

After he complains one too many times about the chill, Henry lets out a frustrated huff and disappears. At first Alex isn’t sure if he’s just fed up and gone elsewhere, unlikely as it might be, but he returns a few minutes later with a bundle of knitwear that he dumps dramatically in Alex’s lap. The items turn out to be a thick cabled knit sweater and a pair of soft fingerless gloves, the latter of which Alex tugs on immediately. The sweater he hesitates, only because he’s not sure if he should try to put it on over the two he’s already wearing or just swap it for one of the lighter ones, but in the end decides freedom of movement is overrated and pulls it over his head. It’s soft and warm and slightly big on him despite all the extra padding, the sleeves falling down over his hands.

It also smells like Henry. Alex burrows into it, letting the scent of expensive cologne and something like fresh grass surround him, and hopes he doesn’t look completely insane. That might be a lost cause, though, because when he glances over he finds Henry staring at him with his lips slightly parted, like he’s stunned at Alex’s audacity.

“Um, thank you,” Alex manages, fiddling with a loose thread.

Henry clears his throat and looks back down at his book. “You’re welcome. And I’m sorry again for all of this.”

“’S not your fault,” Alex mumbles as he sinks a little further into his sweater burrito. “I’m the one who showed up and forced you to take care of me.”

“I don’t think that’s a strictly accurate description of the situation,” Henry counters, “but I’m glad you’re here, for what it’s worth.”

Alex tries very hard not to read too much into that. “Yeah, because otherwise you’d be eating nothing but reheated canned soup.”

Henry laughs, ducking his head, and the way his hair falls over his forehead makes something swoop in Alex’s gut. “You’re possibly not wrong there. But that’s not the only reason.”

Asking what the other ones are seems like playing with fire, and Alex is already starting to feel overwarm. Not only from the sweaters. “Hey, you got any board games around here? Or playing cards?” he asks, desperate to change the subject. “My laptop’s basically dead and we’re gonna have to pass the time somehow.”

“I’m sure we can find something,” Henry says.

Playing card games was maybe not the best idea, considering how competitive Alex gets at these things. Fortunately, Henry is pretty good-natured about it, even if he’s clearly got a competitive streak of his own. They’re surprisingly well matched, actually, which is a thought Alex has and then quickly discards.

It’s fine. The strange euphoria he feels when they trade wins back and forth—the way he’s somehow excited even when he loses, because it means getting to see Henry’s face flushed with triumph—it doesn’t mean anything. Really.

He keeps telling himself that, through the games and dinner and long conversations with hot cocoa by the fire, until they finally decide they probably should try to get some sleep.

“Er,” Henry says, as they peel themselves out of their comfy chairs. Alex winces as the cool air hits his backside. “You’ll want to sleep with me tonight. Not—” he chokes, eyes wide, “—not like that. I only mean, in the master bedroom. It has a fireplace. So you can stay warmer. That’s all. Not that I— Well. Nevermind.” Henry’s face is beet red before he turns away. “I need to take David out before we go to bed.”

“Oh,” Alex says, having gone through a stunning rollercoaster of emotions during Henry’s rambling. “Yeah, uh. That makes sense. I’ll get the fire going up there?”

It’s only once he’s carried a bundle of firewood upstairs in a canvas sling that he realizes that he’s not spent any time in Henry’s room and it feels a bit like he’s invading now, even if Henry’d invited him. The space is decorated in shades of blue, cozy despite the substantial size of it, with a handmade quilt on the bed and a collection of artistic photographs on the walls depicting a myriad of exotic locations. There’s also a few photos in frames on the desk—Henry in London with a similarly-aged woman who shares his cheekbones and a handsome Black man who must be Henry’s best friend Pez. An old, faded photo of none other than Arthur Fox smiling down at a beautiful brunette woman who is holding a small blond baby in her arms. And a later photo, also featuring Arthur Fox, where he’s clad in head-to-toe ski gear along with a slightly gawky teenager who’s nonetheless clearly recognizable as Henry.

“He loved to ski,” Henry says, and Alex nearly drops the load of firewood he’s carrying on his toes. How the fuck he managed to sneak up the creaky stairs, Alex can’t begin to comprehend.

“That was fast,” he says, glancing down at David as he trots past Henry’s legs into the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Henry doesn’t look too annoyed by his nosiness, though. He just shrugs and says, “David is extremely efficient in this weather. Can I help you with the fire?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Alex admits. “It’s been a while since I built one.”

There’s a small metal rack next to the grand fireplace clearly intended to hold the sling he’s carrying, and after Alex unburdens himself he kneels next to Henry, who’s already in the process of building a little tower of kindling in the center of the cold hearth. He’s not so much helping as supervising, but the only other option is to make himself comfortable in Henry’s space, so he stays where he is, grabbing a couple of logs he hopes will be useful.

“What was he like?” Alex asks after the silence becomes too much for him. Henry glances at him, eyebrows raised. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to talk about it. But… if you wanted to. I’d love to hear about him. What he was really like.”

Henry smiles—a little sadly, a little fondly—and looks back at the small flame just beginning to lick at the logs. “They say never meet your heroes,” he says. “It’s usually correct. But they didn’t know Arthur Fox. He was… wholly wonderful.”

They sit for a while in front of the slowly growing fire, Henry talking about his father and their trips out here when he was a kid, about growing up around film sets and movie stars, about their time back home in England. He’s a natural storyteller, funny and clever, and Alex is completely enthralled. But then again, at this point he might be enthralled by Henry reading the phone book in that accent of his.

Later, after they’ve climbed into either side of Henry’s massive bed, leaving a carefully large amount of space between them, Alex stares up at the flickering light of the fire on the ceiling and thinks about all those stories that took place in this house, when it was full of people—Henry’s family and their friends—and how quiet it is now. 

“I understand why you live here,” he says cautiously, not looking over at Henry as he does, “but doesn’t it get lonely in this giant house all by yourself?”

Henry exhales in a little huff—a scoff or a laugh, he’s not sure. “Of course I do. Bea and Pez visit often, but I do spend most of my time alone these days. Except for David, that is.” From his position curled up between them at the foot of the bed, David lets out a snuff. “Like I said, it’s been nice having you here.”

“Yeah, it’s been less horrible than I expected,” Alex says, hoping to make him laugh.

It works. Alex finally looks over and finds Henry lying on his side and staring at him with a smile curving his full lips, his face mashed into the pillow and his hair already in disarray. He looks far, far too soft like this, and Alex is suddenly devastated that he doesn’t get this view every night. That, after this is over, he’ll probably never see it again. The feeling is so intense he has to look away again and close his eyes for good measure.

“Night, Henry,” he manages.

“Good night, Alex.”

Day 5

The fire dies down in the night, so the room that they wake up to is freezing. Alex, however, is still quite warm thanks to the human furnace wrapped around him.

He wakes first, unable to miss how they’ve become entwined during the night. They’re facing each other, Alex’s face pressed against Henry’s chest, his arm thrown around Henry’s waist, Henry’s arms clutching him tightly, their legs tangled together. It makes logical sense, he tells himself: they’re cold, and they seek out heat. An automatic response. Just like the very automatic response of his morning wood, which is not helped by having a beautiful man in his arms. His only saving grace is that they’re still wearing a lot of layers.

Then Henry starts stirring and momentarily pulls Alex even closer before he freezes so completely that he stops breathing. Like maybe if he’s still as a statue, Alex won’t notice they’re cuddling. Or maybe he’s just waiting to see how Alex is going to react.

Alex, selfishly, is going to enjoy being held for as long as he can. 

“Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—well, you know—” Henry finally stammers. Alex expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“S’ok,” Alex mumbles into Henry’s chest. “Good way to stay warm.”

Henry relaxes by a degree so small it’s almost imperceptible. “Right. Of course,” he says, his voice still strained. “So…  you don’t mind?”

Alex would laugh if he didn’t want this so badly he’s practically dizzy with it. “No,” he somehow manages, “I don’t mind.”

He lets his own arm tighten minutely around Henry’s waist to punctuate that declaration, and Henry exhales like he hasn’t done so in the last three minutes. It’s better, and also somehow worse, knowing they’re both awake and making the conscious decision not to part. How far could he push it, Alex wonders. Could he slide his hand under the hem of Henry’s sweater and press his palm to sleep-warmed skin? Could he push his hips closer and find out if Henry’s hard too? Could he tip his head up and part his lips, and would Henry lean in to kiss him?

Or is this nothing more than two people trapped together, desperate to stay warm.

Alex is pretty sure he could stay like this forever, but it’s not to be—David needs to go out, and they need to rekindle the fires that have gone out in the night. He’d worried Henry would be skittish around him, always holding his breath like he’d done when they’d first woken up, but it’s surprisingly normal, apart from the time Alex comes out of his bedroom after changing his clothes—but still wearing Henry’s sweater—and Henry freezes again.

“You’re still wearing it,” Henry says, sounding a little stunned and making Alex look down self-consciously.

“Sorry. Did you want it back?” he asks, hoping desperately that Henry will say no.

But Henry shakes his head. “Keep it.”

Alex knows he probably doesn’t mean for good, but he’s already plotting to steal it when he has to leave.

He decides to busy himself in the kitchen during the day, baking cookies and cakes and bread and whatever he can throw together, keeping the gas oven going to help heat the space. It works so well that he actually gets a little too warm, so he ends up shedding every sweater he was wearing except Henry’s, pulling it back on over his t-shirt base layer and cuffing the sleeves so they don’t cover his hands.

It’s like this that Henry finds him, with flour covering his hands and powdered sugar on his face, some hours later. His eyes go wide as he takes in the wreckage of the kitchen, nearly every bowl in the place piled up in the sink.

“I’ll clean it up, promise,” Alex says immediately, looking up from where he’s rolling out some dough.

Henry’s face softens into a fond smile, and he shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t seem fair. You do all the work and I just reap the delicious benefits?”

“Not sure if it counts as work if I’m doing it half to stay warm and half to keep from going stir crazy,” Alex returns. “But I won’t be able to keep going much longer. You’re almost out of flour.”

“That’s probably a good thing considering the surfeit you’ve made already,” Henry says, looking over the already-baked items as he slowly circles the kitchen island. “We’ll be eating this for weeks. Not that I’m complaining.” He comes to a stop next to Alex, bringing with him the faint, alluring aroma of woodsmoke from building fires, and Alex has to force himself not to lean in. “I never knew you were such a chef before all this.”

“There’s a lot you didn’t know about me, sweetheart.”

The endearment slips out, but Alex can’t bring himself to regret it. Henry’s cheeks are faintly pink, whether from the warmth of the kitchen or something else is impossible to say, and he’s standing quite a bit closer than can easily be written off.

“True enough. I’m glad I do now,” Henry says, his voice low. Alex could almost swear his eyes dip to Alex’s lips before he glances away. “Can I have one?”

Alex has to blink himself out of a stupor to realize Henry’s pointing at a chocolate cookie. He wants to say no, that they need to cool more to maintain their structural integrity, but he finds himself nodding anyway. Henry picks it up so delicately that it stays intact, and Alex can’t tear his eyes away from the way his full lips part and then close around it. From the way Henry tries to compensate as the cookie crumbles unexpectedly, drawing his lips into his mouth before slowly releasing them again. There’s a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth that Alex gets fixated on, wants desperately to kiss away, and it must be obvious with the way he’s staring but he can’t bring himself to care.

Instead, he lifts a hand to Henry’s jaw and gently swipes at the smear of chocolate with his thumb. He’s about to pull away when Henry catches his wrist, holding it in place as he turns his head and proceeds to close his lips around Alex’s thumb, tongue curling around the digit as he sucks the chocolate off.

Alex is the one about to lose structural integrity, as it turns out.

There’s no mistaking that, Alex thinks. Maybe this morning could be written off, but not the slightly smug smile on Henry’s lips now, not the heat in his half-lidded gaze.

“Did you really take off every sweater you were wearing except mine?” Henry asks, sparkling with amusement. It’s more or less a rhetorical question, because it’s obvious from the sweaters discarded on a stool nearby that Alex has done just that, but he lifts his eyebrows expectantly anyway.

“Yeah, I did,” Alex admits shamelessly, tipping his chin up a little. “I like it. It’s comfy.” He leans in a little closer, and this time it’s obvious that Henry looks down at his mouth. “And it smells like you.”

“Alex,” Henry breathes, a little unsteadily, swaying towards him, “I—”

A knock sounds at the front door and David howls, claws skittering on the hardwood as he runs down the hall. Alex only just holds back from swearing out loud as Henry jerks away and frowns in the direction of the sound.

“Who on earth—” he grumbles under his breath, already heading out of the kitchen, and Alex trails behind him, curious despite his annoyance at being interrupted.

It’s chillier outside the kitchen, and he immediately regrets leaving the rest of his sweaters behind. That’s especially true when Henry opens the front door and the icy wind comes whipping in. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he peers around Henry to see one of their other neighbors, Joe, standing on the front porch, recognizable more by his distinctively colored jacket than anything else.

“Heya folks,” Joe says, waving a mittened hand at them. Almost no part of his face is visible past his bundled outerwear. He jerks a thumb behind him toward a snowmobile resting in the snow-covered driveway. “I was out riding and saw Alex’s car in the ditch with no one in it. Thought I’d see if he made it here.”

“Yes, he did, thankfully,” Henry says, though it’s hardly necessary. Alex waves back at Joe. “Please, won’t you come in out of the wind for a bit? I can offer you something hot to drink.”

“Love to!” Joe replies enthusiastically, stamping the worst of the snow off his boots before he crosses the threshold. David tippy-taps enthusiastically at his feet, having apparently recognized him enough by bearing or smell. He peels out of his heavy coat, hat, and neck gaiter to reveal his thick, red beard and broad, white smile that’s nearly impossible not to mirror.

When Alex had first moved here, he’d been a bit wary of Joe—he’d lived here all his life, and definitely cut a pretty stereotypical ‘mountain man’ figure—but he’d turned out to be extremely welcoming. Plus, he’d fixed Alex’s shitty furnace when it had crapped out on him his first winter here and the repairman had told him it would be a week before he could get up there, which meant he’d already earned Alex’s eternal gratitude.

So perhaps it’s not a surprise that Joe immediately notices that the generator’s not running, nor that he bundles up again and goes back outside to fix it without even waiting for Henry to ask for his assistance.

“Just needs a bit of oil,” he announces when he comes back inside. “Can’t run ‘em for too many consecutive hours without a break, you know. When’s the last time you checked the oil levels?”

“Erm,” Henry says sheepishly. “It may have been a while? But I think I do have some extra for it somewhere.”

Not twenty minutes later, the generator chugs back to life and the lights flicker on. It’s a little embarrassing that it was such an easy fix, but Joe seems happy to have helped. Besides, they can repay him with hot chocolate and cookies, which he delightedly consumes, and load him up with additional baked goods to take back to his family in their house a few miles further up the mountain.

“You were trying to get outta dodge when you slid off the road?” Joe asks Alex as he’s finishing up his cocoa.

“Yeah,” Alex has to admit. “Not the best move, I know.”

“Nah, it happens to the best of us,” Joe assures him, slapping Alex so hard on the shoulder that he chokes on the cookie he’d been eating. “The weather can be a fickle bitch, sneak up on you when you’re least expecting it. Nah, what I wanted to ask is if you want a ride down to Conifer. Probably be a week at least before the road’s any kind of passable for most, but I got a vehicle that can handle it. I could give you a lift, if you want.”

Alex immediately looks over at Henry and finds him already staring back, his expression carefully neutral.

The thing is, it’s not even a question of what Alex wants to do. Should he go? Probably. If he gets down to Conifer, the small town at the base of the mountain, he could have June drive out to pick him up. He could go into his firm, and get back to something like his normal life. He could get out of Henry’s hair and stop imposing on his hospitality.

But that means leaving Henry. At the beginning of the week, Alex couldn’t have conceived of that being something he’d be sad about. But after the last few days—after what had felt imminent, and in fact inevitable, in the kitchen—walking away is the last thing he wants to do.

“Can I get back to you on that offer?” Alex finally answers, still holding Henry’s gaze. Finally, he tears his eyes away and looks at Joe again, forcing a smile. “Don’t want to get down to Conifer and find out my sister in Denver can’t come get me.”

“Oh, of course! You just gimme a holler when you wanna go. Don’t have a lot going on, myself.” With that, Joe stands and grabs the package of baked goods they put together for him. “Well, I better be getting back. Thanks again for these. The fam’s gonna go nuts for ‘em.”

“Merely a small token of gratitude for restoring our power,” Henry tells him.

It feels like it takes an age for Joe to bundle up again and get out the door, but finally he’s buzzing off back down the driveway on his snowmobile, and Alex and Henry retreat back into the growing warmth of the house. The front door closes with a heavy thud, leaving a strained silence stretching between them as they stand in the front hallway.

“I suppose you’ll be calling your sister, then,” Henry finally says, breaking the silence. He’s staring at the floor, refusing to look at Alex.

It knocks the breath from Alex as solidly as a punch to the gut. Of course Henry’s looking to get rid of him at the first chance. Alex is intruding on his space, messing up his kitchen and quiet, orderly life, inserting himself where he doesn’t belong.

“Yeah, I should,” Alex manages with forced levity. “Get out of your hair. Don’t wanna wear out my welcome.”

Henry’s head snaps up at that, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. “You couldn’t.” He lets out a little huff of humorless laughter, shaking his head. “Christ, Alex, do you honestly think I want you to leave?”

Alex opens his mouth and closes it again. “Look, to be completely honest? Just assuming people want me around has historically gotten me into trouble,” he admits. “We’ve been stuck together for five solid days. I… wouldn’t blame you for wanting a break.”

Henry stares at him for another beat with an incredulous expression on his face, as if trying to work out if Alex is being serious—which he one hundred percent is—then nearly storms across the hall toward him. Alex isn’t sure what’s happening until Henry grabs his face between both hands and pulls him into a fierce kiss. It’s too much of a surprise to be that good at first, but Alex almost immediately melts into it, his body reacting automatically before his brain has caught up. His hands find Henry’s waist and he presses closer as Henry’s tongue teases his mouth open, and Alex feels the warmth of it slide down his spine and tingle in his still-cold toes.

When Henry finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. Pressing their foreheads together, he breathes heavily into the narrow space between them and nearly growls, “Bloody hell, Alex. The only thing I want is you, you impossible, insufferable, incredible man.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes, somehow still thrown off balance by this declaration. He pulls back to meet Henry’s eyes, looking for any sign that this isn’t everything he’s been hoping for.

He doesn’t find it, of course. The expression on Henry’s face is so impossibly fond that it makes Alex’s heart stutter in his chest.

Henry’s hands shift, thumbs brushing over Alex’s cheeks and fingers reaching back to tangle in his curls. “If you must leave, I understand. But do not for an instant think that I won’t miss you desperately as soon as you walk out that door.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Alex says quickly. Just to make it very clear where he stands on that matter. “Even if the generator was still broken and it meant staying here and freezing my ass off every night, I wouldn’t want to leave.” 

A brilliant smile takes over Henry’s face at that, which he tries to moderate a few seconds later with limited success. He clears his throat. “What about your work?”

For once in his life, Alex could not give a flying fuck about work right now. Still, he supposes he should be a little responsible. “I can still do some, now that the internet is back up,” he allows. “But I have a lot of unused vacation days. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,” Henry says, hopelessly fond, that incandescent smile returning to his lips, and the burst of joy that Alex feels at being responsible for it is so intense it’s a little overwhelming.

Also good. Incredible, even. Alex already can't wait to do it again.

But first, kissing that smile off his face seems even more important.

Day 8

“Right there, love— Oh my Christ— Ah— Alex— Ohhhhh.”

Watching the pure bliss on Henry’s face as he tips over the edge, untouched, combined with the way his muscles clench and he pulls Alex closer in every way possible, never fails to have Alex following close behind him. In this moment, Alex gives over to the pleasure, chasing his release with a few more thrusts that have Henry’s eyes rolling back in his head in the best way.

“I got you, baby,” Alex murmurs between slow, languid kisses as he lets his body sag against Henry’s, feeling the little aftershocks still coursing through him.

Soon, they’re both trembling in a different way. The air is chilly on their sweat-slick skin, with only the fire to warm them, but Alex can’t be bothered to grab the blankets just yet. They turn off the generator for a period of time every day to conserve energy and ensure it doesn’t take an unscheduled vacation again. Often they pass the time reading or playing a card game in the den, but today, Henry had taken one look at Alex hauling in firewood from outside and pushed him down onto the plush rug in front of the fire.

Not a bad way to keep warm, as it turns out, though the aftermath is a little rough without the heat on. Also, Alex’s knees are gonna be killing him for a week at least.

“We should clean up,” Alex makes himself say, already psyching himself up to pull out, but Henry’s arms and legs just curl around him more tightly.

“Not yet. Just a few more minutes.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the one with the human blanket,” Alex grouses, but he lets himself get lost in kissing Henry again anyway. It’s not exactly a hardship.

Not a minute later, they’re interrupted by an unexpected sound: the rumble of the furnace kicking on.

“Is that…” Alex starts.

“The power must be back on,” Henry finishes.

“Which means the road has been cleared enough for the utility trucks to make it up here.” Alex drops his head into the crook of Henry’s neck with a sigh. “I should probably get my car. Check on my house. Call my sister.”

Eight days ago, he’d dreaded being trapped here, so it’s incredible how much he really doesn’t want to leave this house now. Their little cocoon against the outside world. But they both have lives that they need to be getting back to.

Henry, apparently, disagrees. “You could do that. Or…”

He hitches his leg a little higher around Alex’s waist and rolls his hips, clenching down on where Alex is still buried in him. Alex swears as his mostly-soft dick twitches with renewed interest, and Henry drags him in until their lips brush.

“…You could stay a little longer.”

“Jesus fuck, you’re insatiable,” Alex says, though it’s not a complaint.

Henry stares up at him, something almost painfully vulnerable in his big blue eyes. “I’m afraid I’m rather desperate to hold onto you, as it turns out,” he confesses, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I live two miles down the road, you know,” Alex teases, even as he starts moving his hips in a slow circle. “I’ll be here all the time. You’ll get sick of me.”

“Promise?” Henry gasps, followed swiftly by a low groan as Alex grinds his hardening cock against his prostate.

Alex catches one of Henry’s hands in his and links their fingers together, squeezing tightly as he presses a word to Henry’s parted lips. “Promise.”