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Luke knew it was going to snow because his toes were freezing. He sat in the window nook with a blanket thrown over his draw up legs. A leather bound collection of Christmas stories rested upside down on his lap, page marked with his leg. Luke wasn’t paying any mind to the book. His attention was out the window.
The sky outside was full of snow clouds; thick and gray with a tinge of yellow. Even inside, the smell of snow permeated the air. The large old farmhouse was difficult to heat even with both fireplaces and the woodstove in the basement burning twenty-four/seven. Hence Luke’s cold feet. Sitting by the window probably didn’t help.
It was better to stay in the Big House during winter than in the Hermes cabin.
“What are you doing?” A voice drew Luke from his musings. Dionysus stood in the doorway, holding a crystal wine glass. He looked withered, like winter incarnate; snow white skin, drawn as a corpse, and brown curls hanging limp. His eyes shifted to a clear, cold blue.
Most of the gods didn’t suffer because they were never out of their element but Dionysus was different. Every winter he died, only to be reborn in the spring. Not many campers knew about that, or got to see it with their own eyes. There was a reason that this was primarily a summer camp. Luke almost, almost pitied Dionysus. Though he would never admit to that out loud and barely even thought of it in the privacy of his own mind. “I thought it would be nice if it snowed for the holiday.”
When Dionysus moved, his body creaked like the ice over a lake. His movements were jerky, as though he had forgotten how to manipulate his limbs. He stopped beside Luke, gazed down at him with eyes glazed by pain. “The cold hurts you,” Dionysus pointed out.
It was true that the extreme cold made Luke’s scars ache with pain. This was only his second winter with the scars but he already knew that they were going to make his life even more miserable until he died. “You brought my medicine,” Luke replied with a smile. He knew better than to complain about his pain to a dying god.
“Here.” Dionysus handed Luke the glass. The wine glass was etched with strawberry vines. This was not the simple etchings of dishware found in department stores. It was incredibly detailed, as though someone had carved the strawberries and leaves out of the glass. The craftsmanship was absolutely stunning. Within the extravagant glass was soft pink wine that gave off the scent of strawberries.
Luke accepted the glass. His eyes locked with Dionysus’ eyes. He lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. After his quest, Dionysus had often given Luke wine to either bring merriment or madness - often depending on their moods - and Luke had grown used to the taste. Now the wine was for merriment and to soothe Luke’s aching body. It had the added bonus of filling Luke with warmth.
The gift of wine was not given without expecting something else in return. Yes, by drinking it, Luke was technically bowing to Dionysus’ altar. Consuming the wine was a religious experience, it was worship. Luke usually did so passively but there were ways of worshipping Dionysus that were anything but passive. Still, merely being worshipped wasn’t enough for the god of wine. Dionysus expected a service in return. In Luke’s case, he was expected to give tribute with his body.
When the glass was empty, Luke set it aside. He reached for Dionysus, wrapped his arms around the god’s neck to pull him down.
Their lips met. Dionysus slipped his tongue past Luke’s parted lips. He groaned as he tasted the strawberry wine on Luke’s tongue. This was the only way he was allowed to drink wine; a loophole he’d discovered and took full advantage of in the winter months when he couldn’t fuck Luke into madness.
Luke welcomed Dionysus into his mouth. He rubbed his tongue against Dionysus’ tongue and tasted something that made him think of primordial forests and fruit-bearing vines growing wild. He ran his hands through the soft curls at the back of the god’s head.
Dionysus sucked the flavor of strawberry wine from Luke’s tongue. When there was no more there, he licked every inch of Luke’s mouth, searching for every last drop of lingering wine. Only when he could taste nothing but himself in Luke’s mouth did he pull back. His lips were pink and kiss swollen. The cold clear of his eyes was a little warmer.
Luke was no longer cold. His breathing was fast, heart pounding. The price of the wine was one that Luke gave willingly and he always longed for the summer months when the beautiful god could do more than merely kiss him. Still, it was a good kiss and between that and the wine, one of Luke’s hands strayed below the waistline of his pants. “Do you want to join me?” he offered, meaning either in getting off or simply sitting in the window nook.
Dionysus snorted. Now that he had his fix, he looked a little better. Only slightly less dead. “You think I don’t have better things to do?” Despite his words, Dionysus didn’t look unhappy. He rolled his eyes as he left, mumbling about demigods and libidos.
Luke was alone once again. His book had fallen off his lap and shut itself without him noticing. He squeezed the base of his cock, felt a thrill of pleasure. It was too bad Dionysus didn’t like sex in the winter. Luke sighed and turned his face back to the window. What he saw stunned him. It had begun to snow. The first snowfall that Luke had seen in Camp Half-Blood for four years.