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It’s quiet in the cave.
The ships are noisy all hours of the day and night: the creak of the wood, slowly tugged to and fro by the press of the ice all around them; the noise of dozens of men, whether laughing or snoring; the susurration of fabric and canvas. It’s soothing, in its way, to be reminded that even when John feels alone, he is part of a beehive of activity.
Here in the cave, though, it is quiet. It is quiet, but he is not alone. John wonders if Henry feels it, too: the sense of miles of ice on either side of them, ice pressing down from above. It’s an unsettling feeling. John would much rather focus on Henry.
Henry’s tucked against John’s chest, his legs pulled up. John’s arms encircle him, keeping him close. He closes his eyes and listens to Henry’s steady heartbeat, faster than John’s own, but reassuring all the same. John shifts his weight, hoping to get his blood flowing.
“John?” Henry looks up at him through those soft eyelashes.
“Didn’t want my legs to fall asleep,” John says. “Are you warm enough?”
Henry nods against John’s chest. “For now,” he says softly, and John is sure the worry in Henry’s eyes is reflected in John’s own. They’re better off in here than out in the elements, but for how long, John isn’t sure.
Henry shifts his weight in John’s lap, his head still on John’s chest. They’re both in their slops; John wonders if Henry wishes he could rest his face against John’s bare chest. He certainly wishes it for them both. He tilts his head forward, resting it on Henry’s, taking in the familiar scent of his hair.
As if reading John’s mind, Henry says, “This would be nicer if we were bare.”
Despite his worry, the quip startles a chuckle out of John. “We would have a good excuse for it, too.”
“It’s one way to keep warm.” Henry shifts until he’s straddling John’s lap. He rests his forehead on John’s, cups his cheeks with his hands—but he’s wearing gloves. He chuckles and pulls them off before putting his hands on John’s cheeks.
John closes his eyes. “Your hands are so warm.”
Henry rubs them in circles over John’s cheeks. “As you are cold.”
John opens his eyes, meeting Henry’s gaze. Silently, they agree: while the ice cave isn’t much of an aphrodisiac, this time before the other men rescue them is a rare and precious bit of privacy they may not be afforded again.
“This isn’t so bad, really,” John says, tightening his arms around Henry. “Not when we’re here together.”
Henry smiles and presses his lips to John’s.