When you were a young teenager you absolutely hated it. All your friends were going to hot countries or on cruises for their yearly family holiday while you were stuck going to freezing cold snow where you couldn't take cute bikini pictures all because your parents wanted to save money. You would watch as your parents mimicked your earliest memories but with your brother in your place.

As you got older, into your late teens, it got easier. Fun, even. Dylan was a little older, 13, and hated the ski trip now just as you had. He would barely even leave his room most days unless your mother forced him or there was a family dinner up at the lodge or something. He hated the attention of your parents then and maybe if you were younger you would have been thrilled that you could steal their attention away, but at 18 you didn't care about their attention either. No, you wanted John's attention.

No one could blame you. You were stuck in a big fancy cabin, that he owned, with a big burly man. He was like nothing you had ever seen before. Those boys at your school could never compare. It would take them years of maturing to even try to compete with him. The holidays when he wouldn't tag along were dreaded, while you counted down the days to the ones where he would. Countless moments alone in the kitchen when you both couldn't sleep at night due to whatever reason. You still remember when you fell asleep at the kitchen table and he carried you back up to your bedroom without even causing you to stir. Maybe you were overthinking those moments. Who knows.

Now you were 23 and hadn't been been on an annual family ski trip in three years. Your last one was at 20, but after that you had to stop to focus on college. Now, you had graduated college and you were living alone in an apartment about an hour away from your parents house.

Your parents were begging you to come on another trip. They hadn't seen you in "ages" and claimed that you should all do another family holiday "just in case it's the last." They must have thought you were planning on running away or something and they would never see you again. Anyway, you decided to go. It had been a while and you missed the comforting warmth of Johns log cabin. And John would be tagging along. Just another reason to go.

It was John who opened the door when you arrived, greeting you with a "hi, darlin'," in that deep voice of his. John with his tall stature and big arms who embraced you with a smile, pulling you into his chest in a way that made your brain fuzzy. He picked up your bag effortlessly, despite the weight of all your winter clothes in it, and brought it inside for you.

"Look who's here." He called over to the kitchen. Your mum was the first to turn around, wine glass in hand, dressed in a cashmere jumper and knitted scarf despite the warmth of the cabin. She looked like she could have started crying right there and she slammed the wine glass down on the table, embracing you in her arms like she hadn't seen you in years. She saw you two months ago.

"I didn't think you would come..." She sniffled. You had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. "I said I would, didn't I?" You could already tell that any time spent with your mum on this trip would be filled with guilt tripping.

"Let her breath, woman." Your dad said from behind your mum, having seemingly abandonded his whisky temporarily to greet you. The same could not be said for your freshly 18 year old brother who was chugging beers like his life depended on it, clearly enjoying being able to legally drink now.

Between you and your dad, you managed to pry yourself out of your mums grip to then be pulled into your dads. His hug thankfully lasted maybe 3 seconds at most, followed by a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of your hair.

It was just three hours later that the five of you found yourselfs at the ski lodge, recieving your skis and ski sticks. Your gear thankfully fit even though it was from a few years ago. It was still snug but it would have to do.

As you sat on one of the benches beside the ski lifts, strapping on your skis, you could feel your heart start to race and your palms getting sweaty in your gloves despite the snow starting to flutter around you. You hadn't done this in a long time. You were never the best and were never the most confident at it. What if you fell getting off the lift? What if you went head first into a tree? What if you started speeding down the mountain and weren't able to stop?

John must have noticed the panicked look in you eye because before you could think of another terrible scenario in which you embarrass yourself you were interupted by the feeling of hands on your skis that werent your own. He was knelt down in front of you, his own skis disgarded somewhere, and was tightening the buckles on your skis. He moved to sit down beside you on the bench, his hand settling on your thigh as he leaned down so his face was right beside yours.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours, hm?" He asked. "They're already headed up the mountain, look." He pointed over to the ski lift. You followed the direction he was pointing at just in time to see your parents and brother sit down on the lift and be taken up.

You looked back over to John to find him already looking at you. It was impossible to stare into his eyes for more than a few seconds without feeling flushed. You looked down at your feet, tapping the tips of your skis together anxiously, picking at the velcro on your gloves.

"I'm just nervous. I haven't done this in a while. Don't wanna get hurt or fall straight on my ass or something." You shrugged with a laugh like you were trying to brush off your fears as being irrational.

John didn't stop looking at you, even when you refused to return his gaze his eyes were locked on you, his hand squeezing your thigh.

"You don't 'ave to do the big ones today. We're here for the whole week, love. How 'bout you and me start with the smaller slopes today and we'll work our way up to the bigger ones?"

You didn't respond. The heavy weight of his hand on your thigh made it hard to form words. You also didn't want to agree and seem like a coward. Its not like the slope your parents were going on was anything huge. You saw children on it all the time. It was pretty tame and yet you still struggled to convince yourself it was safe. You knew that realistically you would be fine. Muscle memory would kick in and it would be okay.

Another squeeze to your thigh snapped you out of whatever train of thought you were in. John tilted his head. "Hm? Whatcha say?"

You were quick to shake your head. "No. I'll be fine on this one."

Except it wasn't all that fine.

You and John got on the ski lift, knees brushing the whole time. Your heart was pounding so hard you were trying to rationalize how likely it would be for a person in their early twenties to have a heart attack.

When you actually started skiing, you were fairly accurate in that muscle memory did kick in. You remembered enough to be able to calmly ski down the mountain long enough that your confidance finally grew a bit. You were no longer having fears of suddenly flying out of control. John at your side certainly helped ease your worries.

That was until about half way down the slope. The wind and snow had picked up, making it almost impossible to see and keep your balance making you actually suddenly fly out of control and dramatically fall and roll in front of everyone on the slope. You hit your head on a rock buried under the snow and it caused a raging headache even though you were wearing your helmet.

John insisted on escorting you down painfully slow, right past the lodge and into his truck to drive back to his cabin. You didn't meet your parents or your brother on the way down the slope but you assumed that they were in the lodge or had gone back to Johns cabin.

The warmth of the cabin was more than welcome. You stripped your heavy snowsuit and gear at the front door, leaving you in leggings and a sweatshirt. The cabin smelt of cedar and honeyed resin in a comforting scent, contrasting the loud swish of razor sharp wind and snow just outside. Inside was its own gentle paradise of warmth.

You immediately collapsed on the couch, rubbing your pulsating forehead with one hand, trying to ease the pain and forget the embarrassment of falling. John made his way over to you with a glass of water in one hand and two pain killers in the other which you took happily, swallowing them with the water.

John sat down next to you, shoulder pressed against yours. "The others aren't here, must be stuck at the lodge. They don't let people leave during this type of weather, we're lucky we snuck past them. They might even need to stay the night." He looked over at you, his adams apple bobbing in his throat.

"You sure you're alrigh'?" His hand pressed against the back of your neck. "You dizzy? Nauseous?" You laughed at his concern. It wasnt like you went headfirst into a tree, you just bashed your head on a little rock, through your helmet. There wasnt even a mark on you.

"I'm fine, John, really." You smiled at the way he was so worried. "Although, a mug of hot chocolate would really help this headache I think." A tilt of your head and a little pouty lip had him rolling his eyes but standing up and heading to the kitchen nonetheless.

"Go get changed out of those clothes. I'll bring this up to you." He called from the kitchen.

Your room was not nearly as warm as the living room. Even a fresh pair of pyjamas and a hot shower couldn't warm you up enough. Slipping under the many blankets on your bed left you feeling slightly warmer as you grabbed your phone off the nightstand.

The first notification was a snowstorm warning with a red exclamation mark beside it. The rest were messages from your mum, at least 15 of them, frantically wondering where you were and if you were okay. She had to be joking. You were a fully grown adult and she was worrying about you like you were a child?

John entered your room abruptly, no knock. In one hand was a mug of hot chocolate and a glass of bourbon in the other. You sent your mum a quick text. I'm fine. At the house. You shut off your phone, practically slamming in down on the bed before you sat up properly and took your mug from him, feeling very childish with your choice of drink considering the hard liqour he sported in his hand. He sat down on the edge of your bed at your feet, laughing a "uh oh" at your annoyed expression. "I promise I made it with milk, not water. No need to look so upset."

You laughed at his joke. He made you feel better even if your mum was pissing you off. His coco made you feel way better though. He always made it better than anyone else you knew and absolutely refused to share the secret on how to make it no matter how many times you begged.

"No. Its not that. My mum's looking for me. It's like she forgets sometimes that im not fifteen anymore which is stupid because she didn't even care this much when I was fifteen." You huffed, sipping out of your mug. The warmth flooded you body, putting a smile on your face at the very least.

He just nodded in understanding, sipping out of his own glass. You shifted over in the bed to make room for him, patting the spot beside you which he settled into perfectly after he took off his shoes.

You looked over at him. Hair a little tustled, biceps bulging out of a sweater that was clearly supposed to be baggy, sipping on bourbon like it was a refreshing glass of milk in the middle of the night and not a drink that would have most people clawing at their throat. He looked over at you, then. His eyes drifted to your lips for a second before looking back up at your eyes.

You swallowed harshly, turning your head to avoid his piercing gaze. "I, um. I got a weather warning on my phone. Thunderstorms all night. Mum said they're stuck at the lodge until further notice." Your thumb circled the rim of the cup, your eyes stuck on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You didn't see him put his glass down but you heard the clink of it against the nightstand and soon enough he was plucking your mug from your hands too and placing it on the nightstand. His fingers pinched your chin, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. He was so close you could smell the burn of alcohol off him, noses brushing. His other hand traveled under the blanket to your thigh.

"Tell me you dont want this. Tell me to leave and we'll pretend this never happened." He muttered quietly, deep voice quiet compared to the howling storm outside. His eyes were half lidded, lips wet, breath heavy with desire and suddenly your headache was gone, replaced by the fuzzy feeling of lust.

"I want it. I want it, John. I've wanted it for–" he cut you off with his lips on yours, his facial hair tickling your face. The taste of chocolate and whisky combined to make all your thoughts dissapear and be replaced with only him.

In a moment he had you on your back, head resting on plush pillows as climbed on top of you. His lips traveled from yours to your jawline and down your neck, leaving soft little marks that you'd have to blame on your humiliating ski fall. His hands traveled up your top, smoothing over the soft skin of your waist as fabric bunched up over your bra before he just slipped it off over your head.

Your hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his neck and to his shoulders while he trailed lower. Little kisses and marks over your shoulders and collarbones. A tap on your waist signaled for you to arch your back off the bed so he could reach behind you and unclasp your bra, nipples perking at the cold air. He was quick to attack them, one pinched between his fingers and the other sucked into his mouth.

"John..." you said breathlessly, desperate for anything more. He laughed at your impatient behaviour.

"I know, love. I know." His voice was muffled in the soft flesh of your chest, eyes closed, and you could feel him smile against your skin. He eventually sat up to remove his own shirt, tossing it to the other side of the room somewhere before his focus turned completely to you.

He dipped his head beneath the blanket and hooked his fingers around the waistband of your bottoms, underwear too. He pulled down agonizingly slow until he could throw them out from beneath the blanket.

He grabbed the back of your knees, pulling you legs over his shoulder as he kissed down your stomach until he was hovering just over where you needed him. "Such a pretty pussy..." you heard him mutter before his mouth connected with your clit.

He held your thighs tighter when he felt you squirm, relentless in his movements. His tongue dipped down into your hole before clamping down on your clit again to spread your wetness.

It wasn't long before you felt his right hand slowly move from your thigh, to your hip, to your ass, and then finally you felt a finger prod at your entrance before pushing all the way in. The combination of his ruthless tongue on your clit and his finger curling up against that spongey spot inside of you had you grabbing fistfulls of his hair, eyes fluttering closed while soft little moans slipped past your lips, muttering his name like a prayer.

When he added a second finger, he had to move his free hand from your thigh to being draped across your stomach, pinning you to the bed to stop you from bucking your hips up into him. He was able to pin you against the bed with one hand while he ravaged you with the other.

It wasn't long before you came undone on his tongue, thighs closing in around his head as sweet moans grew louder from your mouth. You could feel the vibrations of his own moans against you as he relished in the taste of you on his tongue, practically squirming like he was the one who just came. Your eyes fluttered open, tired sighs falling off your breath as he kissed his way back up your body, gently removing his fingers.

A kiss to your thigh, hips, stomach, chest, collarbone, neck, until he was at your face. A rough hand placed softly on your cheek and his lips on your own. You could taste yourself on his tongue. The intimacy of it sent shivers down your spine.

A string of either spit or your own wetness connected your lips for a second when you parted. "You alrigh'?" He asked, grazing a knuckle over the skin of your cheekbone, a look of genuine concern on his face like you could be anything other than alright after that.

A soft nod and satisfied sigh was all it took to make that look disappear. He layed down beside you and pulled you into his chest, one arm around you shoulders, the other around your waist. He kissed your forehead and whispered to you like anything louder would break you.

"Have a rest now, love."

And so you did, pulled into his chest with a mug full of what was basically lukewarm chocolate milk going cold on the nightstand.

A/N: Yikes that was not supposed to turn out how it did. Like I barely had a plan but that was NOT in it at all. I dont hate it tho. Idk Ive never written smut before so I just left it at that lol