Work Text:
The way the present cuts into history,
or how the future can look at first
like the past sweeping through, there
are blizzards, and there are blizzards.
The weather had been strange all of December, never quite making up its mind on how cold, how wet, or how stormy it wanted to be. It made heating the flat a nightmare and, worse, you never knew what coat to wear and how much you’d curse the decision as the day went on. One man who owned enough coats to make this a genuine headscratcher was James Webb. In the glow of the wintery morning sun he had gone with his wellworn trenchcoat, but now in the dodgy car with a malfunctioning AC, he was hugging his body tightly to maintain heat. Even without that he cut a tragic figure these days, only barely recovered from a gunshot wound to the chest, prompting a career setback for the ages. As promised he had gritted his teeth and bore the consequences of his skewed ambitions, passing the days after his hospital release in Slough House; far away from the beating heart of MI5, yet close enough to wistfully listen to Regent Park’s pulse.
To add insult to injury, one of the first proper tasks (because you couldn’t really call any of this a mission or an op) Jackson Lamb had conjured up for him, was to interview an ex-spook about a case he’d worked with him about thirty odd years ago. The man was nearing the end of his life, which meant he was overflowing with regrets and irrelevant stories and, to everyone’s greatest pleasure, all of it was coated in the thick, dusty layers of dementia. Or something similar to it. James had not been exclusively selected for his shining personality, rather it was due to rudimentary skills in German, the language this aging spy had opted to speak about fifty percent of the time.
“The storm is getting worse,” his driver noted and slowed down the car.
That was another frustrating detail. As long as James had not been cleared by a physical exam to officially reenter field work, he couldn’t drive himself around on company time. The “company” didn’t really give a shit, but it thought (speak, Lamb thought) it was hilarious to send River Cartwright with him. Cartwrong was less pissy than expected, perhaps evading spending another snowy eve alone in the dark abusing his wifi connection, or whatever it was the man did in his free time. Getting out of the office had been a relief, but it had come with the price tag in the form of River attached to it. At this point it wasn’t even the strained, history-ladden silences between them that twisted James up, it was the way the other man looked worried whenever he thought nobody could see. Not worried about his job prospects, not worried about his pathetic life, but worried about James.
“Want me to drive?”
“Very funny,” River said and stopped at a traffic light. A minute ago the car had passed the entry sign to Great Missenden. They were alone on the street, snowflakes beating against the windows and obscuring the scenery. “I’m serious, though. We might have to stop at a petrol station or something. It's not safe.”
“Do you see a petrol station anywhere?”
“It was just an example.”
“If anyone had told me there was an MI5 agent afraid of a few tiny snowflakes, I'd have pissed myself laughing. But here you are, in the flesh.”
“Fuck you.”
Cartwright tried to start the engine as the lights above switched back to green, but the car was done playing nice. Howling and stuttering, it sprung to life for about three seconds at a time, then stopped again. This game continued for a few minutes, then River ended the farce by pounding his hands against the wheel and regretting it instantly.
“Shit.”
“Good, I hope that hurt,” James told him.
“You know, none of this would have happened if you had cut that old guy off when he started talking about the KGB.”
“Oh, the weather would be different if I had told dear Mister Richter to shut it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing. Being stuck with you in a car does not rank very high on my bucket list either.”
“We can’t stay here, it’ll get worse.” He twisted his head. “We’re at an intersection in the middle of a village, there’s got to be a shop or something nearby.”
“Go have a look, then.”
“You will be coming with me, no objections.”
Before James could do just that, River had exited the car and slammed the door shut. If he’d known the day would go like this, he would have refused the task outright, even if it had meant six more months of deadly boredom and lost good will at Slough. In fact, boredom seemed a heavenly alternative to what this was turning out to be.
Mood sour, James followed River outside, the icy winds making his teeth chatter and sting. Cartwright, who had his fists shoved into his pockets for warmth, was determined to storm ahead in anger, underestimating the way the wet snow flakes melted and froze on the road. One wrong step onto the sidewalk, and River was laid low by the weather conditions. Taking his sweet time to reach him, James sauntered over (very slowly, so as to not repeat the same mistake) and tilted his head at the other man.
“Careful, it’s slippery.”
River pulled a face and rubbed his lower back . “You think?”
“Training was really lost on you,” James joked, looking around in hopes someone on the desolate street might have gotten this on camera. “First rule of–”
He couldn’t finish, since someone had rudely kicked his feet out from beneath him. The snow wasn’t the type to linger yet, trapped between the life of a flake and a raindrop. Therefore it had a wet and cold quality that was perfect to crawl right under your fingernails to make a home deep inside. A shiver ran through James as he found himself on the frozen ground, everything on his body immediately clammy; a sharp pain traveled from his spine straight to his freshly healed injury.
“You’re such a fucking child!”
River simply laughed and struggled back up, even had the nerve to hold out a hand. “C’mon, let’s not play Little Match Girl out here.”
It took everything in James not to cross his arms and pout. His main motivation to concede was the freezing cold stinging his arse rather than dignity or grace, and he accepted River’s hand to be pulled up. They walked down mainstreet in silence, snowfall steadily picking up. As they passed a closed bakery, James found himself wishing to be stranded with somebody else. Louisa Guy would know what to do, he thought. It didn’t really make sense, if anything she’d leave him to die in the car, but in this delirious state the idea made sense to him. In any case, he preferred working with her over any of the other halfwits from Aldersgate.
Eventually, and not a second too early, Cartwright seemed to have discovered an open establishment, ushering James inside. Hit by a rush of impossible heat, he coughed, taking inventory of his new surroundings. They stood in front of a reception desk window stacked with pamphlets and Christmas decor. This had to be the lobby of some sort of small boutique hotel, perhaps a B&B. Close by, a staircase wound up and led to at least one more floor with rooms, next to it a medium sized pine tree stood decked in red and blue ornaments, candy canes, and smiling gingerbread men made of plastic. It was the type of thing you tended to find in the window displays of Oxford Street. James’ mother used to take him and his sister every year. Nothing beats winter time as a kid; nothing beats thinking it might last forever.
“May I help you?”
James blinked, the lights stretched for a second, then he refocused on the woman who had just appeared behind the desk. She was retirement age, white-grey hair wrapped in a bun, an appropriately red cardigan over her shoulders.
River cleared his throat and greeted her. “Sorry to just burst in, but our car broke down at the intersection. Is there any way we could wait here and call someone?” He waved around his phone innocently. “Please?”
“Of course, but I don’t think you’ll have any luck.” She pointed behind them, where a thick white wall of snow flakes rushed by the window. “There was a weather alert, do you not have an app for that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, well– I– do, I just–” River stuttered.
If he wasn’t so bloody cold and so fucking pissed, James would have taken pity on him. He knew River liked being the prepared one, the one who weighed his option carefully, yet somehow always forgot about one crucial thing. Though, regardless of sympathies or self-pity, it became clear to him there would be no driving out of this village tonight.
“Bad planning,” James told the woman. “Might we hope you have rooms available for the night? We’ll compensate you, of course.”
Features lighting up, the older woman smiled. “Nonsense. We can absolutely take you in. How about you join us for supper first?”
River searched James’ face. “Oh, I don’t think–”
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” James said, undeterred.
This was a terrible idea, had been since he’d accepted the job. River sat at a table in the small, designated dining hall of the B&B, hoping for divine intervention. Next to him, Spider was still more occupied with freezing than spouting his usual venom, even if for once, River wouldn’t have blamed him. And for once, this wasn’t really anyone’s fault.
The owner, who had introduced herself as Tilly, put down a tray of dishes before them; soup and two steaming mugs. It had been a while since River had experienced an older woman doing and acting the part you usually saw them confined to in children’s stories, though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel comfort at it or not. Tilly seemed kind beyond her duties as hostess, so surely this wasn’t just playing pretend.
While the decorations in the lobby were overwhelming and borderline tacky, this part of the building saw only a few twigs of fake pine and cottonball snow, paired with electric candles.
River’s grandmother had owned a wooden angel pyramid which rotated when you lit candles underneath, tiny glass bells ringing as it gained momentum. It had been her pride and joy, expensive as all hell, imported from Germany. One year, the pyramid had almost fallen victim to the candles and their small but mighty fire, though it had gotten away with only a slight burn on one of the angel figurines. The keepsake still stood on the windowsill at David Cartwright’s house; a place River would not make it to this Christmas, not without a miracle.
“The car will get towed first thing in the morning," said Tilly, “even if I have to send Albert out to do it himself.”
Albert was presumably the unseen husband working in the kitchen to keep guests fed. Those guests were already in their rooms, the clock just shy of 8pm now.
“What brings you out here on Christmas Eve? It can’t be the weather.”
River and Spider threw each other a look– they might as well tell this woman about being spies, not like she’d believe it. But that sort of clarity made it worse.
“We interviewed someone,” Spider answered for them. “It’s for an article.”
Tilly placed down her mug. “You work for a magazine? How interesting. Well, I hope I’ll be able to read that interview when it comes out. Though, I admit, Albert and I are only subscribed to The Guardian.”
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Spider said sweetly.
That came easy to him, the lying part. River bit his tongue. The situation oddly brought to mind his foray into undercover work that had yielded less than ideal results. Fucking Code September. Pushing it away, he grabbed his own cup, adorned by a golden teaspoon with a star engraved in the handle. River stirred the brew and took a sip; a sweet and heavy chocolate taste unfolding in his mouth.
“Yes, go ahead and drink, you two. You need to get warm,” Tilly definitely focused on Spider for that second part. He eyed the hot chocolate suspiciously “It’s made with oat milk, if you’re worried. We have to move with the times, even out here in Great Missenden.”
“Don’t be an arse,” River mumbled.
“Yeah, fu– uhm, thank you, by the way, Tilly. For assisting. And your husband for cooking this late.”
“No trouble at all. I’ll leave you to it, now. Here's the key for your room. I will drop off some necessities and clothes from our lost and found, so you don’t have to sleep in those.” Of course, Tilly meant their still damp clothes. She got back up. “Just leave the plates out. Good night.”
Waiting until she had made it up the stairs, River slowly placed down the spoon in his soup bowl and tried not to laugh.
“So she thinks we–”
“I suppose so,” Spider sounded despondent.
Obviously, River couldn’t care less about how Spider felt about anything, only if it was somewhat amusing to witness. However, what did bother him were his own thoughts and vague emotions on the matter; mainly lack thereof. Sharing a bed didn’t matter to you if you’d shared far more crammed spaces during training. At the very least Spider was someone who made stepping on his toes entertaining.
“It’s the last room anyways,” River added, the words only slightly tinged by schadenfreude.
Tilly had settled them with some clothing items that were thankfully quite plain and only slightly off in the way they fit. After a shower that almost managed to get him back to regular body temperature, James put the hair dryer on full heat and dried his underwear which he had washed alongside himself. It was far from dignified, but it would have to do for this one night. In the actual room, his and River’s other clothes jointly hung draped over the radiator. The fact that the thing was at full capacity but he was still freezing didn’t help.
River, who had gone into the bathroom first and had heated it up with his presence, already lay in bed, scrolling through his phone, perhaps typing a message that might never make it to its recipient until morning. Luckily he had reached his grandfather earlier, the brief conversation audible through the bathroom door. Once he noticed James standing before the bed, he lifted the ugly plaid covers, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Jump in.”
“This is ridiculous,” James complained weakly.
“So is freezing to death in a warm hotel room.”
“It’s technically not a hotel.” While clarifying, James plopped down on the mattress, carefully arranging his feet and entire body to not touch River’s. “And I don’t know why you’re in such high spirits.”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re acting like we’ve never shared close quarters before.”
There were many things James could have said to that. For example, that training days had warped many a thing, including concepts of privacy– a luxury back then, not a given. Also, he thought about the time after River’s demotion, the radio silence that had swallowed up every good thing that had ever transpired between them, how he had told and believed himself that it didn’t matter. And then, he thought of River beating him, throwing him on the ground, and all the cutting words that had passed back and forth since then. The transition to Slough had not been smooth, especially with the injury still acting up, but this interpersonal battlefield made it unbearable at points. The unnamed gap.
But since River Cartwright couldn’t read minds – the one thing James could not fault him for – the other man still anticipated a sort of answer.
“When did you decide to be civil?” he asked him, voice dropping its high-strung cadence.
River shrugged, not smiling but not frowning at the question. That all too familiar worry rose in his downturned eyes again. “It’s almost Christmas. The past is the past. You’re cold. Pick one.”
“I don't believe any of those.”
“Oh, I mean– Spider. Come on. This can wait until tomorrow, let’s just sleep it off.”
“No,” it slipped out. James turned towards River, mustering up as much authority as he could in his boxer briefs and borrowed shirt, while sitting in a stranger’s bed. “No, no, no. You tell me. Now.”
“This isn’t–”
“River,” he put his all into accentuating the vowels of that name.
The other man hummed, unusually calm. “You really want to know?”
“I’m dying to.”
“Fine.” To strengthen his point, River dropped his mobile on the bedside drawer and leaned in. “I feel bad for you, alright?”
As a certain humour swapped over River’s face, James felt his own heat up and, unfortunately, it wasn’t due to a pleasant room temperature. He ground his teeth, as he was prone to do when things weren’t going his way, and rolled his eyes to the point of a headache.
“Fuck off. I feel sorry for you.”
“Oh, I bet.”
Mouth twisting, James genuinely found himself at a loss of words. How dare he? He managed not to say that out loud, theatrics be damned. Withdrawing to the edge of the bed, he turned to the side and switched off his bedside lamp. The effect did not hit quite as hard, considering River’s side was still fully illuminated, the bulb burning brighter at that. The scene was dipped into a strange nostalgic glow– stuck between sleeping and waking, streetlights dim and distant, the faint smell of something sweet without a true source. James’ body relaxed, every fiber working overtime to convince him how lovely and safe this bed was, going against the instinct to kick and scream.
“Hey,” River spoke after a long time, “would you rather we fight until the end of days?”
“Yes.”
At a minimum, that kind of adversary was real and palpable. James knew very well what he had done to deserve ire, and he really didn’t bloody care since it had been done in service of his greatest project; himself. But that whole thing was rotting in development hell by now, the things he’d given up for it taunting him from the other side of the bed. Cartwright had been the better trainee, the better spy, the better man…so why on earth did he have to be the better person as well?
“Alright. Merry fucking Christmas Eve, I guess.”
The other lamp went dark.
James' dreamless sleep was disrupted by a car that let its engine howl in the distance. He was struck by how icy his feet had grown, hands not far behind. Hugging himself and the blanket, he turned and buried his face into the pillow. The back of his throat felt a bit dry and itchy, but that might have been imagination.
“Are you still cold?” River whispered, fully awake.
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t have to freeze your arse off to make a point.”
“Hm, maybe I like it that way.”
Once again, James turned around, body back to facing the window. Outside, the orange light of streetlamps fused with the falling snow knocking on the glass. Their little dance was almost enough to put him back to sleep despite the cold, when suddenly, a hand came to rest on his shoulder, radiating warmth. While not entirely thrown by it, skin to skin contact had not been a very present variable in his life lately. So, naturally, James shook it off and bit his lower lip.
“Suit yourself,” River said and audibly switched his position, sheets rustling.
Only when he was absolutely certain the other man was asleep, did James allow himself to readjust as well, then watch him sleep. River seemed relaxed, with even breaths. He was on his back, one arm on the pillow and resting over his head, the other sprawled across his chest, moving up and down as his lungs expanded and deflated. James was no stranger to the sight, wanted to rest his hand there, too, feel the comforting heartbeat. Come tomorrow, he’d have to put some effort into forgetting this had happened. Maybe he would quit afterall, leave it all behind. And him. Definitely him.
I hate you, he merely mouthed the words, even though nobody would have heard anyways. The weight of it was overwhelming, not falling from his shoulders but crushing him. James balled up a fist in the covers and willed his eyes shut before anything could slip out.
Morning came and River felt well rested, more so than he had in the past weeks. The storm had calmed down significantly, though beneath, the streets and buildings of Great Misseneden were covered by a white sheet.
River stood by the window for a bit, rubbing his eyes, reminding himself it was Christmas Day. But instead of unwrapping presents, he removed his dried and warmed up clothes from the radiator and put them back on. There would be no morning run today, perhaps a walk later if he felt like it.
A noise from the bed behind him caught his attention. Spider was still asleep, a blanket almost entirely covering him, leaving only a few blond strands fanned over the aggressively red and green pillow casing. He was so unlike himself– quietly mumbling and unguarded. River couldn’t help but smile.
Downstairs, he was promptly informed that his car had been rescued from its snowy grave and waited in a nearby garage. He picked up a croissant and some fruit for breakfast and kept to himself in a corner by the window. From here, he took note of the other guests– two middle-aged couples and one family consisting of two women and a little boy just old enough to run around and wreak havoc. Picking up bits and pieces from their conversation, he found out they had come here for some sort of event the Roald Dahl Museum hosted for Christmas, which finally made River realise why the village’s name had sounded so familiar in the first place.
Croissant gone and tea cold, he was joined by Spider at long last, who had also wrapped himself in yesterday’s clothes. He looked positively festive in his suit, though clearly not recovered from the walk through the snow and the subsequent night.
“Has anyone ever told you,” he said, voice raspy, “you snore like a banshee on steroids.”
River raised his cup. “Good morning to you, too.”
“How’s the car?”
“It’s being mended. Just– sit, alright. We’ll be out of here in no time.”
In truth, River wasn’t exactly at ease, the tension from last night still running circles around him. Spider’s stubbornness and resistance to let their common situation drive them towards any kind of positive change or resolution inspired a certain stubbornness in River as well. He had every right to be vindictive, Spider did not. He had suffered for somebody else’s ambitions, Spider had not. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but true enough.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Spider hissed while spreading butter across a slice of bread.
"Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me. Fuck all the way off with that.”
“Of all the things I’ve ever said to you, that is what does it? That’s too far?”
“It’s patronising.” Spider pointed the butter knife at him as if it could do actual damage. “And it’s bullshit. You know it, I know it–”
“Whoah,” River raised his hands, head shaking in disbelief. “Just because you don’t believe me, doesn’t make it bullshit. You lied and cheated and fucked me over, and the second I try to move past it, you just don’t know what to make of it, do you? I should have done this months ago.”
“Fuck–”
“Me. Yeah. Fuck me. You’re so right.”
Spider’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re so much better.”
“Well, objectively I am.”
Nodding ferociously and rolling his eyes, Spider took his plate and stomped off. Briefly, all conversation and movement in the dining hall had ceased to follow their little back and forth, now it returned to normalcy. As the winner of the argument, River should have been proud or just a little vindicated. But he was neither of those things. In fact, a little painful tug made itself known in his stomach despite him having eaten already.
In a different situation, James would have thrown himself into work or distracted himself with some half read book on his bedside table, but this time he was truly and utterly stranded. To pass the day, he skipped through the limited channels on the B&B’s television, tried catching up on sleep, and sent out a tentative message to his sister for the holidays. It was then that Cartwright’s abandoned phone began vibrating. If it had been any other name on the screen, James would not have bothered to pick up, but alas.
“I only just got your message,” Louisa Guy said.
“Great.”
“Oh, it’s you.”
Fair reaction since this was, in fact, not James’ phone. Yet, he couldn’t help being a bit touchy about the change of tone. “Try to sound less excited, please.”
“Well, any updates?”
“Nope. You?”
Louisa Guy exhaled, heavy and put upon. “I’m at my parents', so no.”
“Give them my regards, will you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Happy Holidays, Guy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she said, making James think it was the end of the call. Then, she added a less strained, “Hang in there.”
Afterwards, James decided to not get back up, staring at the ceiling and its riveting beige colour story. The exercise was disrupted when River unceremoniously returned and threw a bundle of something soft in his face. Forcing himself to sit back up, James scanned the item, or rather, items. They consisted of a grey jumper and sweatpants tied together with a simple string that was meant to look like a bow.
He held up the unfolded jumper. “Why does it say ‘Roald Dahl Museum’?”
River stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “Because it’s the only place open today. The girl from the gift shop said this is very warm and comfortable. Take it or leave it.”
“For me?” James turned the fabric over in his hand again, estimating how honest the salesperson had been. “What a hero you are, Cartwright. I guess the car is not ready yet?”
"Tomorrow."
Of course, he’d had a feeling about that. Once more calling to mind the fact that this was not fully on River, he dropped the topic.
“Thanks for the– this.” But it didn’t taste right to say it. “Is this also because you pity me?”
“You need to get over yourself, Spider.”
“Or what? Three ghosts will come to visit me?”
“No, more like your heart will shrink further and die,” River said and averted his eyes, uncertain whether his reference actually made sense. “Honestly, I’m not sure what the Grinch’s whole deal even was.”
James lowered his head and cracked a finger. “He was just sort of alone, I think.”
The other man rounded the bed, weighing his options. Clearly he needed to warm up after his day-long trip through town, but he almost seemed apprehensive to sit anywhere near James and the radiator, even if the bed was large enough as the past night had proven. The longer River hovered in his peripheral vision, the less inclined to play nice James became. Head snapping to the left, he was about to give him a piece of mind, but the energy instantly evaporated at the sight of River leaning by the windowsill, eyes wide and brows drawing together.
“Do you remember when I came to see you in that stupid barber shop? This is a bit like that, isn’t it.”
Skimming through several cliff note versions his mind had retained from countless interactions with Cartwirght, James settled on a mix of mild confusion and distaste for the implication. He refused to believe this had been a clever tactic to lure out information. Also, he had no idea what he could have possibly disclosed to put that crooked, sympathetic grin on River’s face. Though it was annoying how not annoyed he was at it.
Standing to meet River eye to eye (barely), James set his jaw tight. “I advise you to stop talking out of your arse.”
“Fun fact– I actually know I don’t snore, so don’t accuse me of that ever again. But you,” he wagged his finger in James’ face, “you make really kinda– cute noises. And you talk. Not really coherent, but pretty consistently. All night just ‘so sorry’ and ‘ugh, please’ and ‘oh my–”
“Just fucking stop!”
His voice sounded too raw for it to not matter. Caged in by the moment, James shoved River against the window, prompting the other man to grab his shoulders and keep him in place. Trying to struggle free, James pushed both hands against River’s chest where he grabbed them, held them tight and made it impossible to get away. Then, in a kneejerk, heat of the moment, regret-for-the-rest-of-your-life decision, James gave in and closed the gap between them, kissing River. In yet another unforeseen turn of events, River let him.
There were things you didn’t know you wanted until you got them. And then there were things you didn’t even know were possible until they had passed you by. River broke away and took a deep breath, blinking, waiting for the room to stop spinning and to wake up at home, alone in his bed. Scanning Spider’s dazed and flushed face, he wondered if this had been on his mind long before now. Surely that couldn’t be true? River had meant to tear down a wall by riling the other man up, and not inspire this (whatever this even was). It was as if he had gone digging for gold and accidentally stumbled upon Atlantis.
He wiped his mouth, though halfway through the gesture it occurred to him how that might have come across. Hastily, he commented, “That was good.”
Spider laughed, not cruel, but rather confused by this quick sequence of events that neither of them would ever live down. There was no force, no outside influence, not even alcohol they could blame for it. The cold, hard facts were as such– it was Christmas Day, Spider was supposed to hate River, River was supposed to hate Spider, both of them had kissed. One of these things was not like the other, but there was no time to dwell on it. A tight knot inside River’s stomach, one he had not been aware of seconds ago, loosened and made him unsteady. Actually, he thought, that was good.
“Well,” Spider averted his eyes, “I’m not one to apologise, but that was… not ideal. I am sorry, Cartwright.”
In that moment, the cold light made of sun reflecting in snow and windows across the street hit the other man just perfectly, the contrast of his fair hair and pink cheekbones striking enough for River to abandon better judgement. Maybe forever.
He hiked up his sleeves to cool off. “No, don’t ‘Cartwright’ me. Fuck that.”
Spider reached for his shirt, pulling him down onto the bed with him, the friction and closeness setting him off even more. Watching as his mouth fell agape, River could feel his own body respond as well.
Spider fumbled with his belt, panting. “I didn't know you even–”
“Me neither,” River tried to reintroduce some levity, “but here we are. Please, keep going.”
With a swooping motion he rolled them over, so the other man was on top, progressing things much quicker. River felt his pants being shoved down just enough to make access easier, one slightly cold hand now wrapped around his cock. His breath hitched, a tiny noise caught in the back of his throat.
“Are you close already? Because of me?”
Spider was acting oblivious, of course, all that was missing was him batting his eyelashes. But River could mentally add that part and moaned softly as the other man trailed a hand over his stomach and along his length, scooting downwards on the mattress. Briefly, River propped himself up on his elbows to see what was happening, the sight of Spider taking him in his mouth hitting before the sensation even could. But when it did, he pressed a hand against his lips to stop an endless and loud string of curses echoing through the halls of this bloody B&B.
River groaned as he saw a blond head bobbing up and down, the warm and wet feeling of a tongue gliding over his shaft and tip pushing him further and further towards ecstasy. Debating whether it was acceptable to bury his hand in Spider’s hair, he settled on a hesitant brushing motion, only for Spider to withdraw and grin up at him.
“Go for it, I won’t break.”
Maybe the bullet wound in his chest would disagree, but River didn’t want to fight him on this. Not right now. His fingers tangled around some of the soft hair strands, pulling and controlling Spider’s motions. Somehow they had sped past fifty stages of slow and steady reconciliation. Truly a Christmas miracle, River mused, but the smile on his lips was broken apart by a guttural moan, the harbinger of what was to come.
“Fuck, James, I’m going to– you need to get away from–”
But James, who River hadn’t really thought off in terms of his given name in a long time, had other plans. He went harder, used his fingers to increase the effort and squeeze River’s balls as well as the base of his cock. Every touch made him more sensitive, culminating in a powerful wave of relief swapping over him; pleasure and pain shaking hands in the aftermath.
James swallowed and pressed a kiss to his lower abdomen. “Good?”
Something about his voice and general expression softened River’s insides. The urge to counter with a witty remark came and went. Instead, he nodded, drawing James back up to him as he leaned against the padded headboard.
“You liked it?” he asked again, in more clear terms. “I am quite good, I suppose.”
River huffed a laugh. “You liked it, too, though.” No answer. He put his hands to James’ hips, forcing him to sit in his still sensitive lap. “You like it? When I hold you? When I call you James?”
In his arms, James shuddered lightly. Being close to someone like this– months and months had ticked by since then for River, so he didn’t find it implausible to assume James was in the same boat. He had certainly never mentioned anyone. All of this was overwhelming. James placed his hands on either side of River’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, demanding another kiss. It would have been weird to say River had ever imagined this, but if somebody had put a gun to his head and asked what he reckoned James Webb was like in bed, neither ‘slow’ nor ‘gentle’ would have been on the list. Actually, most of it was the complete opposite of his usual schtick, except that he was still full of himself.
One of River’s hands drifted between the other man’s legs. “I’d like to touch you.”
“Yeah,” James moaned.
River thought of his own preferences and, without wallowing too much, licked his palm to slip it inside James pants. The material was thinner than his own denim, pretty standard for a two piece suit. But James lifted his body from River’s lap to free himself off the pants a bit, sliding them down.
“Can’t ruin these.”
River mocked him, but he partially understood the sentiment. Admittedly, he wished they’d gotten the clothes out of the way entirely, but there was always next time. The idea of that sent a warm jolt through him. He looked between them, James breathing heavy as his cock hardened in River’s hand, and began stroking him. Attempting to emulate the slow and deliberate pace from earlier, he let James’ heartbeat and soft moans guide him. At some point James undid the buttons by his collar, caressing his own sensitive skin poking out there. River placed his lips on the exact same spot, delighted how hot it turned as he quickened his movements.
James buried his face in the crook of his neck, whining and cursing quietly, until it was too much; until, finally, his cock twitched in River’s hand and left glistening marks all over his own abdomen. Someone ought to take a picture of him– disheveled, sweet, spent. Again, River was torn between saying something to lighten the mood or floating in the intimacy established by it all. He kissed James’ jaw, then his neck, completing the image he’d formed in his head. Somehow he knew this would trump many other, more trivial differences from here on out.
The second night in Great Missenden proved to be much kinder than the first. James had changed into the glorified museum merchandise which, admittedly, made good on the promise of warmth. He was not convinced this trip wouldn’t result in a cold once he returned to London, but right now, in bed, wrapped around River, he had other things to think about. The sun peaked through the windows where frostwork had made a home, icy flowers glittering and melting away.
“Morning,” said River, barely awake. His voice was hoarse, he tried again. “Feeling better?”
James nodded, though it sounded like the other man was in need of hot tea and some stronger medication. Deciding to keep conversation at a minimum until after a full breakfast, they got dressed and ventured downstairs. The other guests were already finished, only empty plates and crumbs hinting at their stay. In the lobby, the family of three was checking out.
“The garage called earlier, your car is all done,” Tilly told River as she came into the hall to collect some empty dishes. “I hope you have a safe trip back, the roads seem to be better again.”
"Appreciate it,” said River, voice returned to him. “And thank you again.”
The old woman smiled and carried off a tray. James had trouble believing a person that nice really existed, but then again he had not a wide variety of people to compare her to, least of all himself.
“I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“You’re a mean one.”
James shrugged. “Well, yes, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“Hm.” River tilted his head, raising his chin at him. “You’re plenty mean, alright. But that’s not all.”
“I assure you, what you see is what you get.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Because what I saw was quite sweet.”
Mouth opening and closing several times, James grew exceedingly annoyed at the smug expression on River’s face, how he grinned into his coffee mug. The days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve tended to blend together and make his mind go sluggish, but this morning he was on high alert. That was his reward for unveiling the bit of softness he mostly kept to himself? But the smile on River’s lips had changed colours – not mocking but encouraging – and he rested a hand close enough to James’ own for their fingertips to touch.
“Let’s go.”
True to Tilly’s word, the road had been cleared enough to make driving less of a distant concept. Shops were still closed for the holidays, so James and River passed one dark window after the other on their way to the garage. Perhaps it was that drab atmosphere which drew James’ attention to the tree in front of what he assumed was townhall. Making them switch to the other side of the street, he went to take a closer look and stopped right in front.
“It’s a bit scrawny,” River commented. “You know, not to bully it or anything”
“I don’t think the tree has feelings you can hurt, River.”
And either way, he was correct. Silver and gold tinsel garlands, as well as several ornaments and a pointy star on top couldn’t entirely conceal the gaps between the branches. It was by far not the ugliest Christmas Tree the world had ever seen, but it ranked relatively low in terms of cheerfulness.
“How about you?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bully me either, thank you.”
“No, I mean–,” River made an impatient sound, then bumped his shoulder against James who was beginning to feel the cold seep through his clothes again. “You know. About yesterday. About everything.”
The problem was, James had a cornucopia of feelings on just that. Some of them were old pains, some of them newly acquired… not regrets, but certainly not positive thoughts. An ache spread inside his chest; the bullet wound acting up, certainly.
“Don’t hold your breath, I won’t be making friendship bracelets any time soon.”
“Is that what you want, though?”
James sighed, unable to hold it back. Despite the snow and the icy weather, the day was turning out to be a nice one, sun and sky bright and clear. He followed the flashy tree decorations as they snaked their way to the top and culminated in the distractingly pretty star. What did he want? To stay this close without having to talk or ask for it. Ever.
“Yes,” he admitted, “sure, River.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“What were you thinking?”
Turning away from the star to face River – unbothered by the cold and resting within himself for once – James had an awful suspicion what he might do next. Sure enough, River lowered his head, angling it so his lips would fit themselves perfectly against James’. They were soft and less forceful than before, like the act of kissing itself was asking and answering questions.
James felt a soothing hand against his cheek and leaned into the touch, as the other man withdrew his mouth. “Maybe something like this,” said River.
Amongst the snow covers spread over the village and the tree topper sparkling in the morning sun, James had no clever answer. All he thought of was the light and the colour of River’s eyes, and that he felt warm. Warmer than he had in a long time.
Revelation is not disclosure. I love
how the snow, taking itself now more
seriously, makes the cattle look softer,
for a moment, than their hard bodies are.
- Carl Phillips, Back Soon; Driving—