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Despite his name, Cold was anything but that as he settled down, shuddering against the warm chest of his friend.
The base was experiencing a night of relative serenity which was an extreme rarity given the nature of the swamps, and neither the barman nor the trader were about to let such an opportunity pass them by. The weather was freezing, which was most likely the cause of the lack of mutant incidents or wandering Renegades, and many of the faction members were fast asleep in the small bunk house, tucked away from the bitter wind that often blew through the base. Cold had been taking full advantage of having what could arguably be described as his own personal room, which was nothing more than the back room of his bar, when he heard a soft knocking at the door.
He wasn’t quite sure who he’d been expecting, but by no means was he disappointed when he opened the door and was greeted by the sight of one of his long time pals standing before him, coming to the conclusion that Suslov probably wasn’t able to sleep that night, either.
Or at least, that’s the excuse he came up with for his friend. In reality, the two men had been spending most, if not all, of their free time (which was as much a rarity as a peaceful night in the swamps was) together over the course of the past few months, and much to both Cold’s surprise but also absolute delight, they’d become rather close in terms of their relationship.
He would not lie; in his initial days at Clear Sky, the trader had intimidated him. Docent was extremely confident in what he did, which was not something Cold could always relate to, and was open about his status as one of the earliest members of the faction, yet he was never arrogant about it. If anything, he had a tendency to keep to himself in his shop, and the few occasions they spoke, the trader always spoke with a friendly, albeit still somewhat formal, brevity. Suslov often cited the reason for this being the fact that to traders, time was money, and neither could he afford waste. Yet, still, despite this, Cold had found himself interested in the trader, to a degree; he never had been one to get turned away by a perceived challenge such as potentially unwarranted intimidation, and despite the down and out circumstances that led to him stumbling upon the base in the first place, he by nature was a friendly guy, and the relative cheerfulness that he came to be known for was essentially to thank for the others warming up to him as quickly as they did, allowing him to be situated as their designated barman.
That, and the occasional dirty joke never worked against him, either. He had figured that in due time, he’d charm his way into at least a comradeship, if not an outright friendship, with the trader.
He, however, hadn’t been expecting that down the road in terms of time, this friendship would take on a level that could, arguably, be described as more than just a friendship, depending on who you asked.
This especially came into play on the exceedingly rare nights like tonight when both men were huddled up together in the back of Cold’s bar, the small section free of any of the worn out kitchen appliances (seriously - how that damned fridge still managed to keep things chilled in the condition it was, he had no idea) keeping them safe from both the cold and any prying eyes. Not that many of the members would probably give much of a shit - a common sentiment, mostly humorous but still a sworn principle, shared amongst them being what happens in the swamps, stays in the swamps, applying to not only Clear Sky as a whole given their extreme secrecy, but also in regard to any antics or personal choices the men would make in regards to how they chose to spend their scarce, but earned, freetime.
Suslov had a good few inches of height on Cold, and as a result, he more often than not took up the role of human mattress as they sat on the stiff mattress in the corner of the room, his back to the corner as Cold made himself comfortable right next to him, with his back against Docent’s chest, his head lolled back and resting comfortably on the crook of the trader’s neck and shoulder. Both men had removed their flak vests prior and discarded them on the floor nearby; despite the added layer of warmth and protection they offered, they weren’t exactly very comfortable nor practical when essentially snuggling with your friend, and this allowed them to press even closer. Suslov had his left arm draped loosely around Cold, and while he never mentioned it, he always noticed during their rare cuddle sessions how Cold had the habit of holding onto his hand and gently stroking the back of it with his thumb, the layer of fabric of Suslov’s gloves preventing any actual skin on skin contact, but the friction still nonetheless relaxing.
It was a very small gesture, yet it was still relaxing. The two men, while warming up and becoming progressively more bold with each other each time, were still not entirely used to such contact (at least, especially not with another man; it was new territory for the both of them, and while the topic of what exactly they were and what exactly they felt had yet to be discussed, neither of the men felt pressured to answer to it); often when they finally had time to spare and see each other in such a way, it always started out with idle chit-chat. Cold was the more talkative of the two, which both were fine with as Suslov was far from being a bad listener, and the two would often talk over their days which often included how their respective businesses were doing, any rumors of particular interest, or just the typical small talk that occasionally divulged into deeper conversations about what they were willing to share about their personal lives prior to Clear Sky. Docent was, as Cold had mentioned, the only one that knew as much about his past as he did - stating that not even Lebedev, nor the handful of other stalkers he was buddies with, knew such ins and outs. Truthfully, Cold wasn’t exactly sure why he trusted the trader as he did - but then again, perhaps it was because to become at least a mildly successful trader (which Suslov was well above, anyway), a rather large degree of dependability and trustworthiness was required to not end up with a knife in your back, in both a literal and figurative manner.
And maybe, just maybe , something about the way Suslov would look at him made him feel simultaneously weak in the knees, yet also like he could trust him with his life.
The particular (almost eerily so) peace in the base, combined with the frigid weather had made Cold feel, dare he say, almost homesick - though aside from Clear Sky, even prior, he really had no home, so what exactly it was he was longing for, he had no clue. Perhaps that’s where the feelings came from, even, yet he was dead set on keeping up the typical jovial attitude he was well known for, even in the relative safety of his friend’s company once Docent had turned up about an hour prior. Suslov, though, wasn’t dumb; he knew Cold well, or at least well enough to read the barman and tell he was, full of shit. Though it’s not like he’d call him out on it directly - he had other ways of coaxing Cold out of the occasional shell he’d put up on particularly rough nights when memories of his past were bothering him.
Cold had been wiping down the counter of his bar as their conversation slowed when Suslov had approached him from behind, the trader taking care to not knock over the bottle of cleaner Cold had set on the counter (it seemed to be some sort of homemade disinfectant, concocted of various unknown ingredients - one of which definitely being vinegar, given by its unmistakable pungent scent) as he looped his arm underneath the one Cold had been using to wipe the counter, and snaked it around his waist. The barman briefly stiffened at the sudden and unexpected contact, but nonetheless relaxed back against his friend for a moment. He breathed out deeply, trying to settle his heart as it thumped wildly in his chest, and thanked God that Docent probably couldn't feel how hard it was beating through their uniforms.
Then again, part of him wouldn't mind if the trader knew about his feelings. He had a hunch that they weren't exactly unshared.
Suslov had asked him, that particular edge in his voice that said he already knew the answer to what he was asking, what was on his mind. Cold had already mentioned that the day itself had gone well, if not a bit boring, and therefore Suslov could at least deduce it had little, if anything at all, to do with anything that had occurred that day - and subsequently could only conclude it was to do with his life prior to Clear Sky that was bugging him. Cold had said time and time again that he was happy there in the swamps and wouldn't choose a different life over it - yet, both men knew that didn't exactly shut up the ghosts of the past that everyone was haunted by at least once in their lives. One could be happy about their destination, even if the trip itself was far from savory.
He had shrugged against Suslov in response to his question, and took a moment to toss the rag and cleaning bottle aside before he took a deep breath. For once, he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Or at least, not enough of one to talk much about himself.
And as it was, Suslov wasn’t exactly one to want to talk about himself much, either. The two men settled into a silence that spoke more than words could, and remained in the awkward semi-embrace for a couple of moments before Suslov nudged him away from the counter, directing the man towards his makeshift bed in the back of the bar room, which was moments before they found themselves in their current position. To outsiders, it would seem as if the men had come to an awkward standstill with each other; their hold on each other slowly loosening as they sat in a silence interrupted only by the occasional rustle of wind outside, or very distant howl from out in the swamp somewhere, their gazes fixed on something far off in the room in front of them, blinking heavily with fatigue. They'd fall asleep there soon, both of them knew. Neither of them cared.
To them, it was far from awkward. The bar of the swamps was far from being as cushy and luxurious as a flat in the city or a cottage in the countryside, but they had each other; they didn't always have to speak to make a point about how they were feeling, and whatever had brought them together - whether it be positive or negative - be damned. Cold never felt at place anywhere outside of Clear Sky - and hell, sometimes even in the base he struggled with.
But if there was somewhere he could return to and consider a place for himself, it was right there, in the literal lap of his friend.
It was warm, and neither of them wanted it any other way.