3

“We should make snow angels.”

Wesley reacts like I suggested we become serial killers, shaking his head and folding his arms. He’s standing by the kitchen window, staring at the frosty landscape outside with a frown on his face. An empty plate sits in the sink beside him, remnants of pasta sauce on the surface.

It’s an hour after the whole bed debacle. The sun is setting but there’s enough light outside to make out the steady fall of snowflakes.

“The weather is getting worse, and nighttime is setting in,” Wesley says. “We should be getting ready for bed.”

My stomach flips at the mention of bed, but I want to have a bit of fun first. It’s snowing, that’s prime snow angel time. I tell Wesley this as I grab my jacket from where he’d laid it out in front of the fire to dry and put it on.

His sigh is audible across the cabin, but he puts on his outside gear. I stand by the front door and watch him, almost vibrating with excitement.

“One snow angel,” he says, his voice stern.

I throw open the door and step outside, smiling cheekily at him over my shoulder. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

The snowfall is worse than it looks from the inside. White blankets both the ground and the sky, but it’s not so bad that we can’t see where we’re going. It’s freezing, cold air biting the exposed skin of my cheeks and ears.

We stop a few yards away from the cabin and I flop backward onto the ground, a noise escaping from my lips as the air is knocked out of my lungs. I lie there, breathless, staring up at the sky.

“Ow,” I bite out.

Wesley stands above me, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I just didn’t expect it to be that deep.”

It’s not fair, even from the most unflattering angle he looks good enough to model.

“Indicative of a brewing storm,” he says. “We’ll be stuck inside for at least a day before it clears up.”

I exclaim triumphantly and point a finger up at him. “Exactly why we need to make our snow angels while we still can.”

He rolls his eyes but lies down beside me in the snow. We wave our arms and legs back and forth for a bit, making perfect angel indents in the powder.

When I think it’s perfect, I scramble to my feet to see the results. But my foot must get caught in the snow because I go flying forward, my arms pinwheeling at my sides.

I close my eyes, bracing for the impact and a broken nose. But it never comes. A strong hand grabs the back of my jacket and pulls me upright. I stumble and knock into Wesley, wrapping my arms around his waist to keep both of us from falling over.

We stand there for a moment, catching our breath as snowflakes settle around us.

“That was close,” I say, squinting up at him. He really is so tall. I like it, it makes me feel safe when I’m near him. “Sorry.”

Wesley stares at me, licking his lips. His breath comes out in fine puffs of white that billow and fade into the air. Our faces are so close that if I leaned forward my nose would brush against his. My head feels full of static, and I can’t think of anything else as I stand there, his gaze capturing mine.

I open my mouth to say something else but before I can get the words out something cold drips down my back. It feels like snow.

“You asshole!” I push Wesley away, laughing. “What was that for?”

“Revenge,” he says simply. He’s smirking, satisfied with himself. “Snow angels, really? Have some decorum, Ollie.”

He’s picked the wrong guy to mess with. I gather snowballs in my hands, and Wesley does the same, and soon we’ve devolved into a full snowball fight. My aim is terrible but I’m good at dodging out of the way of his throws, until I accidentally move to the right at the same time he does, and I get a face full of snow.

Wesley’s answering laugh is like music to my ears. But I can’t let him win that easily. Without thinking, I rush at him, colliding hard enough to send both of us to the ground yet again.

“Aha!” I yell triumphantly, gripping his hips with my thighs to stop him from bucking me off. “Admit it, I won fair and square.”

He snorts. “You won by cheating.”

My next words are swept from my mouth when Wesley grabs my waist and effortlessly flips us over until my back is pressed into the snow. One knee slightly grazes my thigh, and I can’t help it, I widen my legs to give him a place to put his. He glances down, then back up to me, his expression shifting.

“A good competitor can admit when he’s been defeated,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I guess you won.”

One of his knees is slotted between my legs like a jigsaw, the other placed on the outside of my left hip. For the second time in half an hour, our faces are pressed so close I can count his eyelashes. They’re pretty, dark and sweeping. Something stirs in my groin, and I recognize the beginnings of my own arousal.

Calm down, Oliver.

“Ollie.”

The stern tone is back in his voice, but it’s mingled with something that lights me up from the inside.

“What?” I say.

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, staring into my eyes like he’s searching for something. He must not find it because he shakes his head and pulls away.

“It’s getting late,” he says gruffly, getting to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you clean and go to bed. We can worry about the mess inside tomorrow.”

I let him pull me up and dust the snow off my jacket. We take our time heading back to the cabin. This side of the mountain is beautiful, covered in snow and dotted with towering verdant green pine trees. My fingers itch to put Wesley’s gift to use and draw the scenery in my non-Wesley-filled sketchbook.

I can’t help but still feel bad about the bed thing, but Wesley promised me he’s fine with it. I made him pasta as an apology. It was only from a tin, but it cooked well on the range, and it didn’t taste too bad since I had my own seasoning. Wesley objected to me bringing it, but I refused to budge.

Good food is important. It’s also the only way I know how to help him in return. He’s always been so kind to me. I’m not spoiled, but my family is big, and my two older brothers usually did all the chores before I could get to them. Except for cooking. I take after my mom; I love to cook and shower people with things that taste good.

But when I arrived at university, I knew next to nothing about everything else. Wesley is the one who showed me how to use the accommodation washing machines, how to work the electronic library scanners, and how to find my way around. He’s always been great at directions.

Even though we don’t live in the same dorm, he’s always there when I need him. He never makes fun of me, but I can’t help feeling like a burden.

I don’t mind making all our meals this trip if it means he knows how important he is to me.

*

Wesley showers first and, somehow, there’s hot water. He explains to me through the bathroom door about immersion heaters and how the hot metal rod heats the water around it, but I’m still not sure I get it. Heartbeat Retreat somehow managed to get hot water and a stove working, but not a central heating system?

When it’s my turn, I strip off my clothes and shower in record time. Wesley left his shampoo on the small lip of the windowsill beside the shower, so I step out smelling like pine trees and petrichor.

The bathroom mirror is foggy, but I wipe it down enough to see myself properly. I’m not a thin guy, I’ve got wide shoulders and a flat, taut stomach, but I’m no Wesley Campbell.

Visually, we’re complete opposites. Where his eyes are ice-blue mine are a light brown, my mom always says they’re the color of autumn leaves. Water has turned my blonde hair into a dark flaxen and, compared to Wesley’s longer hair, mine is short enough to tickle the middle of my cheek. Freckles litter the pale skin of my face like constellations in the night sky.

I lick my lips, catching my eyes in the mirror. They look pitch-black, the pupils dilated to cover most of the brown. My lower belly feels tight and hot, like that feeling I get before I settle down at night to touch myself. It’s anticipation for what’s about to happen. Calm down, Oliver. It’s just a bed.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. My reflection doesn’t look convinced.

When I’m dressed in my pajamas, I head to the bedroom, lingering on the threshold. My hands dangle loosely at my sides, damp hair resting against my forehead. I feel a bit lightheaded.

Wesley’s in front of the window, staring out at the blizzard. The snowstorm is in full swing.

“You’re not in bed,” I say quietly.

He glances at me, eyes lingering on my torso. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I absently tug at the hem of his red Harper College sweatshirt. It’s a bit faded and must be a little small on him, but it fits me perfectly.

“Yeah, sorry. In my defense, you left it out and it looked cozy so-”

“It’s fine, Ollie,” Wesley says, cutting me off. “I told you I don’t mind sharing anything with you. You should have told me you booked the wrong cabin.”

“I know, but… I didn’t want you to think I was dumb.”

“When have I ever made fun of you for making mistakes? I do it all the time. You’re usually the one helping me.”

I make a face and wrap my arms around myself. The urge to touch him overwhelms me, my hands are itching with it.

“There’s no way that’s true,” I say.

“It’s true,” Wesley says. He pushes off the wall and comes to stand in front of me, an indecipherable expression on his face. “I forget deadlines for my essays all the time, don’t I? And I always need help studying for exams. My mind doesn’t synthesize topics as quickly as yours does.”

Warmth, slow and sweet, spreads in my chest, and I step back. If I’m not careful, I’ll latch onto his large frame and never let go. The ache for touch is deep and longing, but I can’t give in. I don’t want Wesley to hate me.

Wesley stares at me with a strange expression on his face, then quietly walks to the bed and turns over the covers.

“Come on, let’s retire to bed,” he says. I can’t help but smile at his old-fashioned vocabulary.

We crawl under the sheets, lying as far apart from each other as possible without falling off. Despite the hot shower, I can’t help shivering in the cold bedroom air, tucking myself into a tight ball. The entire cabin is freezing, and the bed is no exception.

“You’re cold,” Wesley says into the dark, his voice so deep it caresses my ears.

“It’s nothing. I’ll get over it and fall asleep soon, so I don’t bother you.”

“If you turn around, we can conserve body heat by sleeping together.”

My breath stutters, but I nod my head enthusiastically before he can rescind the offer. Sleeping together.

The echo of his words makes my head spin.

I flip over until I’m facing the wall, my shoulders tense but I let out a small, content sigh when Wesley’s muscled arm drapes over my waist. He’s roasting, emanating heat like a furnace. It’s comfortable, and I wriggle into his embrace.

“Stop squirming,” Wesley says, hot breath brushing against the top of my head.

“I’m not!”

I am a bit, so I take a deep breath and force myself to close my eyes. All I need to do is fall asleep. That’s it, easy-peasy. Fall under the comforting embrace of darkness, let myself drift off to dreamland…

Except I feel so buzzed, electricity running through me like a wire, the last thing on my mind is sleep.

All I can think about it is Wesley. During our conversation earlier today, he basically asked if I was a virgin and I never got to ask him back.

I frown. Have I ever seen Wesley with anyone, before? He’s not exactly the most forthcoming guy, he never talks to me about that stuff like the other guys do. Things like sex, girls, or jerking off. I won’t lie and say I know what they’re talking about 100% of the time, but I can follow the conversation well enough. I’ve been on the internet, same as any other guy.

Except Wesley. Is he a virgin? Is that why he doesn’t like talking about sex? Or maybe he’s out with a new person every week and I’ve never noticed.

My eyes blink open. I can’t sleep, not without these questions answered.

“Ollie.”

“What?”

Wesley sighs. “Go to sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

He squeezes my hip, and a high, quiet moan slips from my mouth. We both pause, Wesley’s body going rigid behind me.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I say, turning around to face him. It’s hard to see in the dark, but I can make out the wideness of his eyes. “That turned me on a little.”

Wesley rubs his free hand over his face, groaning. “Christ, Ollie.”

I push on. “Plus, I can’t go to sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“I want to know-” I pause, licking my lips. Wesley’s eyes follow the movement, and the hand on my waist tightens slightly. “I want to know if you’ve ever done… you know.”

Wesley raises an eyebrow. “Use your words, Oliver.”

My stomach twists at that, and I bury my face into the pillow. “Oh my God, Wesley. Sex, man, I’m talking about sex.”

“You’re asking me if I’m a virgin.”

He looks a bit smug, that cocky smirk tilting the corner of his lips up and showcasing his dimples in full view. I huff, whacking him lightly on the chest. It feels like solid rock beneath my fingers, and I’m tempted to rest my hand on one of his large pecs. “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

Wesley sits up, taking his arm and his lovely warmth with him. I panic, scrambling up to stop him from leaving, but he holds out a hand.

“Patience. Let me turn on a light.”

Oh. “Good idea,” I say, a bit breathless. Relief spreads through me and I settle back under the covers, watching the faint outline of his shadowy figure as he finds the camping lantern on the bedside table and lights it.

Faded yellow light illuminates the room and this time when Wesley slips into bed beside me, I can see his face in detail. His hair, unstyled and left to air-dry, flops over his forehead in dark waves, the long strands touching the nape of his neck. His mouth is red, probably from biting his lips too much, and that flush tinges his skin.

He drapes his arm back around my waist, and I push us closer together, burrowing into his warm, solid body. I want to stay like this forever.

“I’m not a virgin,” he says, and his eyes pin me in place.

I lick my lips. “Oh. So, you know about sex and stuff?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, and Wesley nods. “Yes, I know about sex and stuff. Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know, I realized I’ve never seen you with anyone before.”

“I’ve been with people. Mostly guys but there have been a few girls, too,” Wesley says. “I don’t make a habit of announcing it.”

No kidding. We’ve been friends for three years and until now I’ve never really thought about his sex life too deeply. He always seemed uncomfortable when our other friends brought it up, so I assumed he didn’t want to talk about it. Even though we talk about everything, I don’t want to push where I’m not wanted. Wesley respects this and treats me the same when I don’t want to talk about my ex.

“And what about… stuff when you’re alone?”

Wesley closes his eyes for a second, but they flicker open the next moment and his gaze latches onto mine.

“You want to know if I’ve ever touched myself.”

The words ‘touched myself’ falling from his lips are so hot that I can’t think. Heat spreads to my groin and the panic from before sets in again.

No, no, no. This is the worst time for my body to be having a reaction.

But I can’t help it. With the weight of Wesley all around me, his face pressed close to mine, and the topic of conversation... it’s enough to make any guy a little excited.

“Yeah,” I say. My voice sounds hoarse.

“Yes,” Wesley says. “I’m twenty-one years old, of course I do.”

“What do you think about?”

Wesley shakes his head. “I don’t think we should continue this topic.”

But I want to know. Curiosity is eating away at me; now that I’ve opened up these thoughts, I don’t think I can close them again. Like some perverse sort of Pandora”s box.

My cock has taken an interest, too. I squirm again, pressing ever closer to Wesley, and gasp when my crotch brushes against his by accident. Something hard, and unbelievably big, brushes against me. Wesley lets out a low ‘mm’ sound that goes straight to my cock.

I pause, shocked. “You’re hard.”

It sounds like an accusation.

“So are you,” Wesley says. He’s staring at me intently, his expression unreadable. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since you squeezed my hip, probably.”

Since I walked into the bedroom. Since you said we could sleep in the same bed. I feel almost light-headed with how much I want to reach down between my legs and rub.

“We could try to fall asleep and ignore it?” I suggest, even though I don’t want to.

“That would take too long and would waste time,” Wesley says slowly. “There is one other option. We could resolve the problem to completion. Here, in the bed. Together.”