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“Same here, Farmer, same here.” The fire begins to crackle, and the full force of the heat is upon us. I realign myself, sitting on my ass between his legs, the width of them closing in on me, providing me more warmth.
“I should make us something to eat.”
His knees continue to close me in. “Just wait, would you?”
I don’t tell him no. I don’t want to. Every once in a while, his hand reaches out to my shoulder, squeezing it. Or simply, it’s his touch on me that gives me the encouragement I need.
“Xan?” he asks.
“Yeah?” Again, baby is so close to falling from my lips, but I hold it back.
“What is this? You and me? Is it fear, lust, hate…not knowing if we’ll survive this? Misplaced panic?”
I decipher his question, though it’s vague.
“Are you asking if any of this is real?” I question to make sure I understand him.
His laugh is music to my ears. It’s a relief that he finds humor in this mess we’re in.
“Well, my hard-on sure the fuck was real, and I’m pretty sure yours was, too,” he explains.
And I return the laugh. “True, very true.”
“I’d like to leave here, not hating you. I never realized how much effort it takes to truly hate you.”
This is nice—the conversation, the heart-to-heart, the understanding of our childhoods. But why does my heart hurt slightly not saying we could be more?
“And Xan?” He stops, waiting for me.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“I’m sorry. This is my fault. You wanted to get a head start, and I mocked you, dragging my feet because I could never give you control, or the upper hand. It makes me feel weak. You may feel the same. My ma always said we’d kill one another, and I came close. This is on me.”
The wretched horror in his words at the thought that this is all on him has my heart falling for him a little more.
I turn around on my knees and pull his hands into mine. “It’s not all on you, Clark. I’ve fostered those feelings in you since the age of eight. We both gave more than we took and not in a good way.”
His hand touches my cheek, and I lean into it.
“I think you’re handsome with a little scruff on you, Xan.”
My blond hair barely shows the scruff, not like Clark’s does. Along with long brown hair, he’s all man, even with it pulled back in a bun.
“Never thought I’d think a man-bun was sexy,” I admit.
Do I tell him I want more? Do I want more when this is over? I’ve only ever cared for David. I was unwilling to leave Minnesota to follow him, and he was the love of my life.
“I’m glad I could change your opinion, Xan.” His hands thread through my hair, but the need to pull on his hair, to pace him as he sucks my cock is what I want. It’s one of the many desires I have when it comes to Clark.
I stay quiet, moving from the width of his legs. Pulling for the clothes I’ve worn for the last two days, I bring a blanket back to the chair, throwing another log on the fire. “Keep drinking the water.” I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean down, kissing his nose. It surprises both of us. Moving to the back of the house where the wood is stored—still an odd place in my opinion—I search in the closets for something to give me warmth to make my way to the end of this road, a quarter mile in all this snow. A heavier coat, something better than either Clark or I have, is hanging in the hall closet, along with an extra hat and gloves. Snow boots sit on the floor. They’re bigger than I typically wear, but it’s better than being too small. Why the fuck have I never looked here?
Passing through the living room toward the door, Clark follows my movements.
“What are you doing?” he asks because I haven’t yet told him my plan.
“It’s midday. The sun is out, and the snow has stopped. Someone could be out there. Let me see if I can make it easier for them to find us. Because as of now, I’m sure my car is covered with too much snow. If my GPS is still working, it will take a while to dig it out.”
And I know both our moms will think we’re buried underneath, most likely, frozen solid.
