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Hobie didn’t retain heat well at all. It’s one of the first things Pavitr noticed about him as they got closer, though they were bros at first sight. Whenever they’d come in for a double high five, Hobie’s palms were always so cool against Pavitr’s own. Whenever they’d clap each other on the back, or wrestle, or see who hugged tightest while taking selfies, Hobie’s body always resonated cold. It was odd to Pavitr. In spite of Hobie’s fierce loyalty to anarchy and no-bullshit scowl, he was as kind as he was beautiful. For a reason he could not name, he thought Hobie’s infectious radiance would reflect in his temperature. It did not.
“Yah!” Pavitr yelped as something that had to be ice poked his bare ankle. His body jerked and his chakli went tumbling to the wood floor, meeting its demise with a crumpling splat.
“Awww,” Pavitr plumped his lips into a pout, peeking over the edge of the bed to assess the damage. Hobie was bunking at his place. The two were laying on Pavitr’s bed, a movie running in the background, although neither of them were paying much attention to the screen as they chatted over the characters. Then Pavitr was assaulted by a biting chill, and accidentally murdered his poor food.
“Oh,” Hobie joined him in peering over the bed, “Bloody hell. Apologies mate.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Pavitr asked. He threw himself back on his pillows, arms tucked behind his head.
“Cause I nudged you with my toe,” said Hobie, glancing over his shoulder at Pavitr. Pavitr’s umbrage blared in his chest, but he was unable to flail or squawk or whatever he would’ve done in response to such tomfoolery. Hobie’s brilliant eyes, luminous and bewitching, halted all of his body’s automatic functions. He was helpless under that color, golden and green and brown like burnished autumn. All Pavitr could do was hold his gaze, analyzing the distinctive shape of Hobie’s eyes, the haunting deep set of them that made it seem as though Hobie never slept and got wildly excited off the fact, the severe, narrowed arch of his eyebrows. Handsome, enchanting.
“Why would you do that?” he managed.
“Was’n accident,” Hobie shrugged, “Was shiftin and gave you an involuntary tickle.”
“Better question, why did it feel like you had been leisurely strolling through Arctic York?”
Hobie gave a snorting giggle, “I don’t know.”
“Bro you are always cold,” Pavitr said.
“I’m not cold to me,” Hobie said, tone defensive but his full lips in a playful up-tilt,
“Come here,” Pavitr cut his wrist across his chest.
“Is that your best come hither gesture?” Hobie asked, “Not very enticing.” He bobbed his head and smirked, the clouds of his hair swaying with his movement.
“Excuse you,” Pavitr glared, “It’s me. Everything I do is enticing.”
“Well pardon me,” Hobie scooted away from the bed’s edge and climbed over him, arms braced on either side of his head.. Pavitr grinned up at him.
“Hey,” Hobie returned the smile, bright against his beautiful umber skin.
“Salutations,” declared Pavitr, voice dancing with his best fifteen hundreds European lilt. Laughter effervesced between the two of them. Pavitr pat Hobie’s shoulder until he sunk down on him, his thin body sprawled over Pavitr. He was a strong man Pavitr knew, but he was almost weightless atop him. He was so slim and long too, his feet kicking off the edge of the bed. Hobie tucked his head under Pavitr’s chin, which he had to tip back to keep from swallowing Hobie’s wicks. They still smelled of the honey and pomegranate oil he liked to use.
“Fucking hell your a bloody stovetop!” Hobie hissed, his lips against Pavitr’s neck. His breath fanned warm over Pavitr’s flesh. Pavitr shuddered.
“Does my Pavi have a fever?” Hobie murmured.
“No,” Pavitr let out a less than manly yelp, hand curling into the back of Hobie’s shirt. His Pavi? It tiptoed beyond the boundaries of this casual thing growing between them. Pavitr wasn’t sure what it meant, but it wrapped his heart in all sorts of sweet torments. His skin grew hotter as the blood rushed to his cheeks and ears. He cleared his throat, “It isn’t a fever. You’re just a snowman, remember?”
“Hmmm,” Hobie sighed. His muscles relaxed, body going almost slack. “Maybe I am a bit cold.”
“Just a bit?”
“I don’t believe in temperature.”
Pavitr hiccuped out another laugh, “Okay now you’re just saying stuff.”
Hobie chuffed his confirmation. He melted into Pavitr as if he could somehow become his skin. He slipped his arms under him, getting his hands beneath his shirt and spreading his fingers over Pavitr’s sinewy back. Pavitr’s body hitched and he wrangled back another humiliating squeal. Hobie was freezing. Hobie snickered into his neck.
“Something wrong Pav?” he asked, words caught up in a devious purr. It raised goosebumps across Pavitr’s skin. Or maybe that was Hobie’s bony, ice kissed fingers.
“You’re going to trigger my spidy senses with how cold you are.”
“But you were the one who enticed me down here,” said Hobie. Pavitr opened his mouth for a retort but came up short. This was his fault and, his grip tightened in Hobie’s clothing, he didn’t mind. Hobie and all of his unholy chill could be anchored to him for life and he wouldn’t bat a single lovely eyelash, although it might be difficult to be Spider Man with a loving, fiddle footed punk attached to him. The pair fell quiet, bathing in one another’s existence. Pavitr’s thoughts stayed circling Hobie and his anarchical ways. He was too much to summarize, too good to put into proper words. He was disinclined toward Mr. O’Hara spider society, regarded most of its rules and gadgets with visible and verbal contempt and unease, and yet he stuck around to guide Gwen, to protect Miles, to look after Pavitr. Hobie’s breathing had slowed some and he was a little less fidgety. Pavitr glided his fingertips over the nape of Hobie’s neck, feeling his shiver as though it were his own. Hobie expelled something akin to a moan, and it vibrated through Pavitr’s undulating chest. If Hobie was looking after everyone else, then who was looking after Hobie? Pavitr wrapped his arms and legs around him in a constricting embrace, as if that would sequester them both from the dangers the future would dunk on them.
“You a koala now?” Hobie asked.
“I’m pretty sure koalas don’t have hair as fabulous as mine.”
“Fair’nough. But for real, why’d you start squeezin me? You okay?”
“Perfect as always,” Pavitr singsonged. I just wanna keep you close. He wasn’t a timid person, not around Hobie, but the unsaid was lodged in his throat as if it had weight. Maybe it did. Hobie nuzzled into him. His nose was cold like a dog’s, but the rest of him had soaked up Pavitr’s heat. The movie characters’ exchange of Hindi pulled Pavitr from his rumination.
“Shoot, we missed my favorite part,” he said.
“No problem,” Hobie toppled off of him and sat on his knees. “Need to clean up the mess I helped you make and get you another snack anyhow. We can rewind when I’m all done.”
“No, you don’t have to -“ Pavitr rocketed to a sit but Hobie was already rolling off the bed.
He stumbled and twirled around to give Pavitr a wink, “Don’t stress it Pavi. I got it put away.”
Pavitr dropped his shoulders with a voluminous sigh. There was no helping that. He could keep him warm when he was done at least.
“Hoo!” Hobie bent to gather what he could of Pavitr’s slaughtered chakli. ‘It’s actually quite cold away from you, here in Arctic York.”
“Good thing I’m not going anywhere,” Pavitr smiled, all dimples and crinkled eyes.