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You practically throw the door open coming inside, teeth chattering and body positively shaking from the cold. The sound of wind whistling outside is immediately dampened when you slam the door shut. “Sorry, Dorian.” You mumble out an apology instinctively, despite the fact the Dateviators are currently resting in your pocket as opposed to your face, leaving you apologizing and not knowing if Dorian has even acknowledged you, much less forgiven you.
As soon as you’re no longer at the mercy of the harsh elements outside, you run a hand down your face, trying to rub some warmth back into the parts that hurt most from the cold. You grumble unintelligible nonsense as you do so. Of course, the one day you don’t check the weather app, the temperature decides to drop from the usual 90 degrees fahrenheit to a brisk 75, with a wind-chill index that makes it feel even colder than it actually is. The same day you need to take your trash to the curb to be picked up by the dump truck. The same day you choose to wear a single layer of clothes and more skin exposed than you would have preferred had you known what the weather would be like.
Whatever. There’s no point in berating yourself at this point. You don’t need to leave the house again today, thank god. But you do need to get yourself warmed up, pronto. You’d like to be able to feel your fingers, thank you very much.
And you knew just the object to help you.
Slipping the Dateviators from your pocket and onto your face with shaking hands, you make your way to the fireplace with purpose in your step.
As soon as the glasses are on, you see Dante materialize in front of your fireplace. You never realized this, but for some reason, right now he looks really warm, and extra inviting.
When Dante sees you, he smiles, a greeting on his lips, but that’s gone the moment he notices how chilled you are. “Dang, Hot Stuff! No offense, but you’re looking a lot more like ‘Cold Stuff’, if you know what I mean.”
You rub your arms, trying to dampen the chills. “Yeah. I feel like a popsicle with freezer-burn.” At least you managed to stop your teeth from chattering, so you aren’t stuttering when you talk. “Stupid wind, stupid weather.”
Dante winces sympathetically. “Oh man, that must be the worst. How about I work my magic, maybe melt this icy popsicle?” He spreads his arms open for you in an offering.
You nod frantically. “Please.”
Swiftly, you complete the journey to Dante and practically collapse against him, wrapping your arms around his jacket and burying your face into the collar. And just like a popsicle, you practically turn to liquid at the warmth that comes out of him in waves. You can feel your stiff muscles loosen themselves again.
Dante catches you effortlessly. Carefully, he lowers you and himself to the floor. “Wow, you really are cold! Good thing I’m built to fight the frost, huh?”
You hum, situating yourself so you’re sitting crosslegged and leaning into Dante’s side with your head on his shoulder, while his right arm is draped over your shoulders and hugs you tight. “Thanks, babe.”
“Any time. I’m always here if you need a place to escape the chill.”
As you flex your fingers to get some feeling back into them, you get an idea. Reaching over, you take Dante’s charcoal hand — which he’s allowed to cool down to a toasty warmth, leaving it colored a soft black as opposed to its typical bright orange — and delicately thread your fingers in his. His ‘skin’ (if you can call it that) is pleasantly rough, gritty, a bit firm; but most important of all, it’s warm. You feel his natural heat seep into your icy digits, thawing them immediately. You bring his hand to your face, putting the back of it against your nose and your lips, then moving it over to your left cheek, holding it there for a moment, then switching to your right cheek. Your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss, and you moan with pleasure.
Dante doesn’t seem to mind you taking control over his hand, and he hums softly. “There you go, that’s it. Warm yourself up, Ember.”
And you do. You can finally feel your body again, your ears and nose don’t sting from the cold anymore. You sigh, and nestle closer into your boyfriend’s side. “You’re amazing, Dante.”
Based on the rise in temperature coming from Dante, you know he’s more than likely blushing. “Just doing what I do best.”
———
It’s later — when you’re talking to Amir — that you realize your hands and face are smeared with streaks of black soot, most certainly originating from Dante’s charcoal hands. You find that you don’t really mind it very much, waiting until you go to bed to wipe it off (if only to keep Betty from getting dirty).