#slaaaaaaay

Celebration is raucous—elation and alcohol make your blood hot, your head dizzy. The orange overhead lights of the bar, and the cherrywood of the counters, stools, and cabinets cast a honeyed glow that makes the space feel welcoming.

But the corner you’ve found yourself in is cold, and the body you’ve found yourself against is colder still.

If you’re honest, the last thing you expected from this ritual was to succeed—and the second-to-last was for the night to end in this kind of festivity.

But it’s hard to ruminate on anything when you’re moving in smooth, slow sync with another being.

Kelvin kisses with the edge of someone repressed; forgotten confidence thawing with every tilt of his head and slip of his tongue.

You can’t quite remember how you ended up on his lap in the empty pool hall, hidden from the prying eyes of your colleagues. You only recall the heavy glint in his eye when you pushed him back onto the couch—how readily he complied.

Kelvin’s paranoia, it turns out, runs deeper than you’d guessed. He refuses to remove a single stitch of clothing—won’t even take off his damn mitts. The fact that he’s deprived you of those cool hands running up your back is enough to make you weep in your intoxication.

You’ve never made out with someone and been cold at the same time—it’s the strangest sensation, rocking against someone with no heat to give. But Kelvin seems all too happy to absorb yours, if the hum of contentment and the way he pulls you closer with every chance are anything to go by.

Lovely noises escape Kelvin like clouds of breath on a frosty morning, and the speed at which he stiffens against your thigh both flatters and excites you.

Somehow, he grinds against you with a fluidity that should be impossible with a giant stone strapped to his back. It makes you flutter in all the right places.

An iron grip halts you; Kelvin’s eyes are squeezed shut, his face flushed red.

“I would prefer not to ruin these pants.”

The words come out strained, and only then do you notice the vein pulsing at his temple.

“You sure you don’t just want to unbutton—”

“No. I won’t risk it,” he interrupts. The shortness of his tone is unexpected—and oddly sexy coming from such a kind man. “This is fine. Believe me.”

To redirect his focus, you twirl your fingers through his beard. You don’t want him to notice your sulking. Normally, you’d have the tact to hide it, but the drinks have melted your inhibitions.

“But I don’t mind taking care of you—not at all.”

A thick mitten cups you, rubbing back and forth, his other hand guiding your hips to move with it. Your mouth falls open, and you quickly learn the pressure feels wonderful against your clit.

Kelvin watches you through half-lidded eyes, tilting his head back just enough to see you.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs—and the sincerity takes you so off guard that you let out a shuddering whine from the words alone.

You loop your arms around his neck, burying your face in the fur of his parka, stifling your moans as you give in to the rhythm. The burn builds fast—too fast—and before long, you’re coming. Warmth spreads in your underwear, and neither of you stop; Kelvin catches every whimper and cry with his mouth, swallowing every sound, stealing all your hot air to soothe his frigid insides.

Maybe you were just as repressed as he was, because you’re climbing that peak again alarmingly fast. You grip his shoulders so tightly he sucks in a breath.

“Another?”

The pleasant surprise in his voice would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t teetering on the brink. You can only nod before you come with a small, choked squeal that he quickly muffles with his free hand. Your hips still, but his gentle stroking doesn’t. He props you up, hushing you softly when you twitch and fuss from the sensitivity.

“You’re alright. Just relax.”

There’s no fight in you as the icy pleasure renders your brain soft and useless.

You lie against him, limp, as he eases you back down to regular altitude. The corners of his mustache tilt upward, that small, self-satisfied smile making his entire face seem brighter.

“I was worried I’d be out of practice,” he says in his usual upbeat way. “But looks like I still got it.”

Too blissed-out to comment, you manage only a sluggish grunt of agreement.

A deep, hearty laugh that reminds you of Santa vibrates in his chest before he swoops you up into his arms.

“I’ve chilled you to the bone, my friend. Let’s get some more drinks in you, and warm you back up, yeah?”

Playful batting convinces him to set you back on your feet. Linking arms, you walk back to the bar.

You’d never met someone so cold on the outside, no—but tonight, you met one of the warmest on the inside.

Cred: Banner