Work Text:
"We're gonna die here," Michael says, a tragic huddle of boy under the streetlight. He looks like a character from a Dickens novel. Luke hasn't read any, but those books were all about sad poor Londoners, right? It's cold enough that Luke's hands are going numb even with the black fingerless gloves he put on, and Michael's a picture of misery just in his thin sweater, sleeves pulled down to cover his hands and thereby exposing even more of his shoulders. He looks so sad. It's awful.
"We won't die, the cab'll be here soon. C'mere," Luke says. He sways toward Michael, open-armed, and Michael folds himself into Luke's body, nuzzling his cold nose against Luke's neck. He does his best to warm Michael up, rubbing his gloved hands over the pale bare expanse of Michael's collarbones and upper back, trying to stroke away the chill.
Michael scrabbles at his tummy, and it takes Luke a second to figure out that Michael's not just pawing at him like usual, doesn't realize what's going on until Michael's got his coat unbuttoned, a gust of cold wind slipping in before Michael plasters himself to Luke's body, their stomachs pressed together, Michael's arms wrapped around Luke's waist under his jacket. "Hey," Luke says feebly, but readjusts so he can wrap his coat around Michael too.
Michael sighs, his breath warm against Luke's throat, rubbing his face there, and Luke's aware of every bit of him, the icy tip of his nose, the tickle of his eyelashes, the soft drag of his lips over the cold-slowed beat of Luke's pulse. It's getting faster now, his pulse. Luke draws in a breath, tasting the autumn chill, and Michael makes a soft noise against his skin, opens his mouth a little to lick hot over Luke's throat, scrape his teeth there and starting to suckle a bit. Luke's hand tightens on the back of Michael's neck, but not to pull him away. Just an acknowledgement.
Luke rubs his nose in Michael's fairy floss hair and sighs, focuses on each point where Michael touches him, feels the warmth there, feels it spread through him. Michael stops, after what feels like a long while, and Luke feels his blood beat heavier there, knows Michael left a mark. "Okay?" Michael asks, so quiet that he wouldn't be audible if they weren't pressed so close.
"Mm-hmm," Luke says, and kisses Michael's temple, his cheek, ready for it when Michael's lips move inward from his jaw, ready for the soft kiss Michael gives him, and the firmer kiss that follows, the next kiss, and the next. In the cold dark they kiss until the cab pulls up, and when they pull apart Luke realizes it's started to snow.