Work Text:
“I can’t believe you won’t fuck me at the fuck cabin,” Kip says. His voice is muffled where the lower half of his face is buried under thick winter quilts, but Scott can tell he’s sulking.
“I’m trying to be respectful! And the what?” Scott leans over to see Kip. He was almost asleep, lulled by the pale glow of the knee-high snow drifts outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Hollander-Rozanov cottage. The sky is milky with fresh flakes, the moon barely visible under their haze.
Kip gives him a playful slap on the belly under the heavy covers. “Come on. The windows? The pillows everywhere? That bathtub? This is a fuck cabin. I bet there’s lube in the bedside table.”
Scott scoffs. “In Hollander’s house? I bet there’s a bible, like in a hotel.” He pauses when he opens the end table drawer to find an unopened bottle of lube and a fresh pack of tissues. “This might be a fuck cabin.”
Kip curls smugly into Scott’s side. “And they were kind enough to invite us for a weekend. We might as well live up to expectations.” His hand dips into the waistband of Scott’s boxer briefs, making Scott inhale sharply and arch into the touch. But he pushes Kip’s hand away, kissing his forehead.
“I’m sorry. But I can’t have sex knowing Hollander is putting Rozanov through the mattress two doors down.”
Kip snorts. “Funny.” At Scott’s silence, he laughs. “Babe, do you think Shane tops?” Scott’s continuing silence makes them both break into breathless giggles, cuddling closer in the warm bed. “Not everyone switches it up like us.”
“Sad,” Scott says. He’s glad the only thing he can hear in the dark house is the creak of winter floorboards and Kip’s slow, sweet heartbeat next to his.