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love made whole in one night.

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Thick flecks of white float past the window like they’re dancing to a song that can’t be heard, the sight of the weather outside sending a chill down his spine, and Denali feels at home. He’s not sure if it’s the almost Alaskan winter weather, the festive cheer beginning to brew inside of him, the fact that he’s with him or a combination of all three, but it brings a dumb smile to his lips regardless.

It offsets the chill, the thought of this being home now in an unspoken way, and his fingers grip just a little tighter at the sweater paws that hang loosely over them; bringing the material up to his face, and letting his cheek brush against the slightly itchy fabric that lingers with the scent of vanilla and strong aftershave.

His gaze only distracts from the view beyond the glass at the warmth of an arm wrapping around his waist, and the sudden silent presence of a body pressed up against his back. He glances down at the tattooed hand that strokes across his stomach, despite already knowing who it is, and smiles at the sight of that unchanging chipped black nail polish.

The same sight that’d always felt like coming home, from the very first moment their fingers had intertwined in the cold loading dock back on set, to all the times they’d squeezed in synchronisation for mutual support, and especially when those very hands had cupped his face and murmured sweet confessions of love against his lips.

“I thought the apartment had gone quiet,” Rosé murmurs, a kiss pressed in place to the spot of exposed skin above the collar of the brunette’s sweater. “What’s up?”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, y’know..” Denali chides, eyes rolling despite the fact that he turns in the older man’s hold anyway to let their gazes meet. He strokes his thumb over the stubble beginning to prickle up on Rosé’s jaw, and then melts into the comfort of his hold with a shake of his head and a smile. “Nothing’s up.. just thinking.”

Thinking about their future, and how far they’ve come through the year, although that’s a scary thing to admit out loud. Not only because they were still uncertain in exactly what their relationship was, toeing the line of commitment, but because a new dawning was approaching in the form of the new year, and that always meant change.

Whether it was going to be good or bad change for the two of them, he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and that was the scariest thing of all. Uncertainty felt misplaced, when he was so certain about Rosé.

“That’s always a bad idea, baby,” the older man teases, a pinch of Denali’s sides as hands stroke over the curves of his waist, and then dodges the swat of his chest with a smirk. A hand reaches up to run his fingers back through dark curls, ruffling his hair. “Don’t hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m kidding,” Pout kissed away, a sweet peck to the younger’s lips that turns the smirk into a softened smile, Rosé encourages a little more seriously this time, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m thinking about how this is the biggest fucking Hallmark cliche in the world.” Denali deflects the severity of his true thoughts with a tease, the way he does best, and signals towards the view just outside of the window with a wave of his hand. “Me being trapped in your apartment just in time for Christmas because of the out of the blue blizzard outside? A nightmare.”

Rosé gasps, over dramatic as ever, and his hand slaps atop of his heart; accidentally pressing the button that kickstarts the flashing lights on his own cheesy seasonal sweater in a way that draws a giggle from both of them. “Now who’s the asshole, huh?”

I’m kidding.

It’s a mimic of the older man’s voice, of his exact words only moments ago, and Denali can’t help the way his cheeks pinken at the consistent teasing. At the way Rosé slips a warm hand beneath the constraints of his sweater to pinch his side lightly, and then pull him closer until they’re chest to chest.

An attempt to ignore the way he can feel every soft flutter of the older’s heart against his own, a sensation that still makes him squirm even after all this time, Denali traces the tip of his finger slowly down the line of the blonde’s jaw. Lets the pad of his thumb brush across his bottom lip, and whispers, “It’s Christmas Eve, shouldn’t we be doing something a little more.. festive?”

“What exactly do you propose, my love?” Rosé asks, and the petname brings a light dusting of rosiness to tanned cheeks. The blonde’s lips twist up into a teasing grin, as he lists off wistfully, “Christmas carolling around the apartment block? Baking sugar cookies and kissing frosting away from each other’s lips?”

He shrugs, fingers continuing their trail over the shoulders of Rosé’s sweater with a brush of a single loose thread that pokes out, and relaxes at the way the other man’s breath is warm against his cheek. “Usually I just order good take out food and get high.”

“Mhm, yeah.. you see them do that a lot in those Hallmark Christmas movies that you’re so fond of.” Rosé nods, the movement sarcastic in itself, and the younger feels his heart clench painfully at just how in love with this idiot he is. “Super festive.”

“You’re literally so annoying.” The huffed out complaint against smiling lips holds no real malice, they both know that, and the gentle scratch of Rosé’s nails against the small of his back makes him melt pathetically. They share another kiss, a slow brush of lips, and then Denali states, “I’ll go get the hot cocoa, you put a movie on.”

“Sounds perfect.”

It’s sincere this time around, a genuine buzz of happiness at getting to spend such a special time of year together running through both of their veins, and Denali can’t quite bring himself to mind that the snowstorm had cornered them together. Had fate not had its own way, they would’ve been on their way to the airport to say their goodbyes by now, and he isn’t too sure his feet would’ve allowed him to leave the other man behind in the big city for a final time that year. There’s an unspoken relief, shared in both sets of adoring gazes, and then Rosé is pulling away with a peck to his flushed cheek.

Unusually domestic in the way they end up cuddled up on the couch together, a furry throw covering their intertwined legs and the older man’s arm curled around his shoulders, it doesn’t take Denali’s gaze long to falter from the colourful pixels on the screen - The Grinch, settled on of course by Rosé with the Jim Carrey enthusiasm. The movie is just fine, but the view that greets him when bambi brown eyes flicker across, is one that makes that seed of love that was planted all those months ago blossom like it was the very first time all over again.

His mullet is a mess from where tattooed fingers have ran themselves back through it, a speck of stray cream from his drink at the corner of his lips, and there’s those dumb crinkled crows feet at the corners of his eyes everytime he laughs, and Denali has never been more in love. Denali reaches up, gentle and slow, to curl a loose flick of blonde around his finger, and the older man shivers in reaction to the accidental graze of his nails against the nape of his neck.

Rosé leans back, just the slightest into the touch like a cat with the way his neck cranes, and then hazel eyes are meeting his own in the middle with an amused smile twitching as his lips.

“What?”

The question is soft, just a little louder than a whisper, beginning to lilt off into the first chimes of a breathy laugh, but it only makes the brunette’s heart thump that little bit harder.

“What do you mean, what?” Denali asks, pressing his cheek to rest against the back cushion of the sofa in the hopes that it’ll disguise the flush of embarrassment at being caught out that’s beginning to tinge the tip of his nose. He prods the blonde’s thigh with the tips of his cold toes beneath the blanket, and shrugs, “‘M just looking at you.”

“Oh yeah? Like what you see?” Rosé’s eyebrows wiggle stupidly, hazel eyes glimmering with their usual teasing light, and suddenly the movie becomes nothing but background noise for him too.

There’s a passing beat of quiet, not tense or nervous or brimming with sexual tension like usual, and then Denali resettles himself on his knees, laces his fingers a little tighter in the grown out curls of the older man’s mullet, and then dives forward into a kiss deep enough to answer the question wordlessly. A shaky whine, muffled against warm lips, slips out just as Rosé’s tongue slips in, and he soaks up every last breath of oxygen exchanged between them.

“Mhm, baby..” It’s moaned against the heat of his skin, between the sounds of their kisses that smack in the otherwise silence, but the rasp in Rosé’s voice still manages to send a shiver right to the base of his spine. Strong hands are on his waist, tugging him closer and unintentionally stroking over the slither of exposed skin where his sweater has hitched, and then he’s being pulled into the older’s lap with a murmured, “C’mere.”

Denali giggles, the tip of his nose grazing the blonde’s jaw as he buries his face into the crook of Rosé’s neck, and spurred on by the intoxicating scent of his usual aftershave, soft lips are latching onto milky skin immediately. He covers every bare inch he can reach with the warmth of his lips, a nip to the dip of Rosé’s collarbone, and lands a final sweet peck to that spot beneath his ear.

“It’s kinda hard to get it up when I’m looking at The Grinch on the screen over your shoulder, y’know,” Rosé teases, a low murmur in his ear as wandering hands sneak beneath the waistband of the brunette’s borrowed pyjama pants, letting the elastic ping back into place in elicitation of a gasp. Denali would chide him for his ridiculous teasing once more, if only his body wasn’t saying the complete opposite.

“Bullshit.” Denali sneaks one hand down between the older man’s thighs, a swat to signal for him to seperate them a little, and trails his fingers over Rosé’s crotch with a squeeze. He smirks at the way Rosé chases the touch, a groan rattling through his chest, and tuts, “You’re hard just from making out with me. What are you, a sexually deprived teenage boy?”

Joking aside, and unafraid to admit to his own desires that build and lose patience with every passing second, Denali nudges the blonde to relax back into the cushions and is dropping to his knees before another bickering war can break out. He traces the seams of Rosé’s own pants, cruelly slow in his pace, before looping his fingers beneath the waistband and wiggling the material down his thighs with the help of the already eager older man; letting the checkered pyjamas pool around his ankles and his dick spring free.

Denali takes a moment, to stroke the tips of his fingers over hairy thighs that tense up beneath his touch, presses one, two, three kisses in a trail right up to where Rosé wants to be touched, and then the first featherlight stripe of his tongue is making the older man hiss with pleasure.

“Baby, don’t tease,” Rosé chokes out with a tug of his already bitten bottom lip between pearly white teeth, and urges the brunette forward with a gentle tug of his overgrown locks beginning to flop over his face. “Please.”

“Just wanted to hear you beg for it.” It would be the other way around usually, but Denali can’t deny the way hearing the other man plead for his touch makes the fire deep in the pit of his own stomach twist, and with one final smug smirk flashed his way, he’s sinking the warm heat of his mouth down onto Rosé’s dick without a second to steady his breath.

Tongue pressed flat against him and dainty fingers working themselves around what can’t be reached, he’s spurred on by the feeling of fingers scratching against his scalp almost in silent praise. By the way Rosé’s breathing deepens with each hum, and the lust in those bedroom eyes as they watch on as though this was the last memory the older man ever going to witness in his mortal life.

“Such a pretty mouth, angel,” Rosé praises, a scratch of the younger’s scalp which causes a vibrating hum, and one needy buck of his hips is pulling obscene moans from both mouths. “Fuck.”

Denali pulls off with a pop, an innocent flutter of those bambi brown eyes back up at his not quite boyfriend, and continues to teasingly twist his fingers along the shaft that’s beginning to pulsate in his palm. He smooths the pad of his thumb over the sensitive tip with a smirk at the way the blonde squirms, and asks, “Wanna come on my face?”

“You really know how to make things romantic, huh?” the older laughs breathily with a roll of his eyes, breath hot on the brunette’s face, and then strong hands are cupping either side of Denali’s jaw and tugging him back up into a kiss. Rosé’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip for a taste, noses bumping inbetween as he purrs all low and raspy, “Gonna come inside you.”

Denali’s moan morphs into a giggle as he’s urged back up into the blonde’s lap by a tug of his wrists, and his own pyjamas pants are being slipped off and tossed aside to join the growing pile before he even has the chance to steady himself on shaking knees. He loops his arms around Rosé’s neck, chest to chest and foreheads pressed together, brushes his bare ass back against the older’s dick teasingly, and then those warm hands are back on his hips and bitten lips sucking at his neck.

Rosé’s fingers fiddle with the hem of his sweater, urging it upwards, but the gush of cold air makes his thighs clench and a squeak slip out.

“No,” he pouts, snuggling closer into the warmth of the blonde’s body and hitching the furry throw a little higher around his waist too. “Lemme leave it on.. s’cold in here.”

“Big baby.”

The tut is muttered against his cheek, but Rosé’s lips twitch up into an endeared smile regardless, and then two slicked up fingers adorned with inked numbers are slipping down and beginning to work him open with a slow ease. Strategic curls and tender kisses to the curve of his neck cause Denali to rock his hips back against them, eyes fluttering shut and hands holding onto the mess of Rosé’s mullet for support.

It’s messy, the way their lips desperately mouth at any inch of the other they can find, and Denali can’t help but stutter on a shallow breath when that spark of electricity shocks him for the first time. Like all oxygen has been knocked from his lungs, his gasp is muffled against the older’s temple, and the satisfied laugh that comes from Rosé jostles his chest gently.

“I love you,” Denali manages to confess breathlessly, quiet and contained as though it’s just for their ears despite there being nobody else around, and the ease behind those words draws a gentle smile upon kiss-swollen lips. Tanned fingers come around to stroke either side of the blonde’s face, lust lidded gazes meeting in the middle, and the sentiment is whispered once more into the silence. “I love you so much.”

These types of confessions are always scattered between, no set time or specific premise for when it can be shared, whether it’s a moaned out murmur or a joyful call to the nighttime streets, but somehow it still feels right every single time.

“I like hearing you say that.” A confirmation of his very own thoughts, that those three words were welcomed no matter where or when, the older man’s lips paint themselves into a dopey smirk, and then the tips of the nails on Rosé’s unoccupied hand scratch featherlight over the small of his back. His voice is low, possessive, when he purrs, “Like knowing you’re mine.”

Another certainty in the uncertain waves of their relationship. They’d always come back to each other.

“Of course I’m yours,” Denali whispers, suddenly sobered by the way they’ve once again circled back to this, although the adoration in wide eyes fails to falter. The brunette sighs airily at the sudden addition of a third finger to stretch him out, and then admits a truth that came as a surprise to neither of them inbetween stolen kisses, “Have been since the very first second you set your eyes on me.”

Rosé knows. He knows Rosé knows that, satisfied glimmer in hazel eyes aside, because every living person on the godforsaken planet with a braincell and a set of working eyes could see that the younger had been a goner from the very first breath that they’d shared.

Rosé reaches up to brush a floppy strand of dark hair back from his face, smooths the pad of his finger of the brunette’s brow and then smiles. His index finger hooks beneath Denali’s chin, unable to resist the tease of slipping his thumb between pink lips.

“Imagine what the others would say,” he hums, tone teasing as he soaks in the sight of the younger in his lap, and tilts his head in almost contemplation, “If they could see us now..”

“You know exactly what they’d say,” Denali murmurs, having to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the too familiar taunt that plays in the back of his mind, as he strokes his hands down the blonde’s chest with a pinch of the obnoxious pom pom that decorates his ugly sweater. Dimples digging into flushed cheeks, and hips chasing the slowed touches, he mimics, “Sister dick makes you sick.. but I’ve always been sick anyway, so can you please stick your dick in me now?”

Rosé flips their position in a second, tosses him down onto the cushions of the couch with a squeal, and then he’s hovering over him with an unfairly handsome smirk on his lips and inked fingers digging into tanned hips.

“Your Christmas wish is my command, angel.”