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"Master Boya," Qingming says, coyly teasing as always. Boya heroically represses the urge to roll his eyes, but fails to keep the warmth from rising to his cheeks. It will be camouflaged by the flush of cold regardless, so it's fine. "I hadn't expected being invited into so great an intimacy so soon in our companionship..."
"Do you want to freeze, or are you getting in the bed?" Boya demands, still holding the quilt up. It's letting in the cold air, and he's beginning to shiver once more, now that they're not moving. They were lucky to find this abandoned hut near the path; the snowfall is thick enough that visibility was dropping even more quickly than the temperature.
"As you command, so I shall obey," Qingming says smarmily, and he removes his boots and carefully enters the bed, laying down next to Boya. The space is small, and the mattress sags, their weight depressing it toward the center until their sides press against each other despite both their best efforts. A sudden awareness of Qingming's size makes Boya swallow. Their heights are similar, so he assumed they were of a similar build; but with Qingming so close like this, his bulk slowly warming the sheets, Boya feels...
Qingming shifts next to him; Boya's throat works once more at the press of their arms and hips.
"It's so cold," Qingming murmurs: a statement or a complaint, it's not clear. This close, his low voice sounds unbearably intimate, making Boya's ear tingle at the wash of air against it. Valiantly ignoring the heat it generates, he turns onto his side to grab Qingming's arm, sliding down to his hand. It's like ice.
"You're freezing," Boya exclaims, eyes finding Qingming's under the dark of the blanket. He's being watched, an unfamiliar expression wiped from Qingming's face once their gazes meet.
"It's cold," Qingming replies, not resisting as Boya brings his hand up and begins to chafe it. "You don't feel it?"
The side effect of the bond with Zhu Que- Boya hasn't felt more than a discomfort at the cold in a long time. "You should have said something," he breathes, frowning in concentration. He glances at Qingming; hesitates. But there's no one here but them; and Qingming already knows. No one will come across them, alone in a blizzard. "Hold the quilt up," he instructs, and Qingming listens, curious eyes gleaming at him through the intimate darkenss.
Boya closes his eyes for a moment; lets power wash through him. When he opens them again the blankets are held up by one of his wings, magic still arcing through it like static electricity, the other folded neatly behind his back and already beginning to warm him.
"Boya," Qingming breathes, eyes wide. Boya awkwardly settles the wing over him as best he can- it feels strange, having it so extended- using his arm to urge him closer. There; now the joint can rest easily across his side.
"Warmer?" he grunts, not meeting Qingming's eyes. He sees his slow nod; sighs and lets his eyes close. "We'll wait out the storm," he says into the dusty pillow. He can feel the warmth of his breath reflecting off it- and off Qingming's face, not far beyond. Closer than they've ever been. "Next time tell me when you're on the verge of frostbite."
"If I'd known I was to be taken care of so warmly..." Qingming's voice begins, a note of humor in it. Boya rolls his eyes without opening them and pushes gently at his chest.
"Rest while we have the chance," he murmurs. "We'll keep moving when the weather has cleared."