Frost

by Isabelle Adler

  He felt the footsteps reverberate through the floorboards before he saw boot-clad feet coming his way, and looked up. Spencer crouched in front of him, his expression that of genuine fear.

  “Finn! Are you okay? I heard the noise—Are you hurt?”

  “Some of the roof came down.” Finn sat up, coughing. He must have inhaled more dust than he thought. “I hit my back, but I’m all right. Just afraid, with all the damage, the floor is gonna cave in too.”

  “Jesus. You scared me half to death.” The relief in Spencer’s voice was palpable. He helped Finn to his feet and then suddenly hugged him, locking him in a fierce embrace.

  Finn froze, startled by the unexpected gesture. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had touched him, but now it felt…more meaningful somehow. Finn closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink against the other man’s frame, to be enveloped by his quiet strength as he hugged him back, ignoring the spike of pain in his back. He almost imagined he could hear Spencer’s still-frantic heartbeat through the layers of thick clothing that separated them. There was no mistaking the emotion that shook Spencer’s voice.

  “We really should go looking for another home for you two, before anything else happens,” Spencer said finally and then let Finn go, putting a hand on his waist instead to support him. “But I think it should hold for now. Let’s get you warm.”

  Neither of them commented on the hug as they hobbled along the hallway and down the stairs, but the memory of Spencer’s touch lingered in Finn’s mind, precious in itself but leaving him yearning for more.

  THEY STAYED THREE days in the basement after Finn’s semi-successful foray upstairs, most of them spent with Finn sitting on the floor, holding Siobhan’s hand and watching her chest rise and fall as minutes trickled by. The awkward position and lack of movement did nothing for the spectacular bruise that had formed on his back, but he hardly noticed the discomfort.

  It had been touch and go for a while, but thankfully, the cipro had eventually kicked in, and on the morning of the second day, Siobhan’s fever broke. She opened her eyes and asked for something to eat in a weak but coherent voice, and Finn had never been more relieved at having to spoon-feed someone leftover soup.

  That whole time, Spencer’s help had been nothing short of indispensable. With Finn barely leaving Siobhan’s side and effectively serving as her nurse, Spencer had taken on the bulk of the menial tasks, keeping them as comfortable as possible in the chilly basement that now had no functional door. He fetched clean water and kindling and went on hunting trips for his famous rat stew and cleaned up the place—all so unobtrusively that Finn barely noticed what he was doing until it was done.

  It went above and beyond Spencer’s initial intent to see Finn home. It made Finn somewhat uncomfortable, as if he was taking advantage of Spencer’s goodwill, but he was also weirdly pleased.

  “I think the worst is over,” he said as they settled down after a long day to share a meal. It was a scary thing to say out loud, a fate-tempting thing. But the crackling of the fire, the delicious warmth spreading to his stomach, and the almost unfamiliar sense of calm had soothed his anxiety somewhat.

  Spencer, who was sitting across from him next to the fire, glanced at Siobhan and nodded. Her sleep was much more peaceful now, her breathing more even and deep, and her face less sallow.

  “I think so too. She’s a tough one.” He looked around, eying the door critically. “But the draft isn’t doing her—or us—any good. We really should find another place for you to settle, before your sister catches another cold.”

  Finn nodded, watching him. The light of the fire made every feature more defined, from the tiny creases around his eyes to the curve of a fuller lower lip. Every little detail fit into the image like a piece of a puzzle, and while it could be said that Spencer wasn’t a stunningly handsome man, the sight of him tugged at Finn’s heart in a way he couldn’t quite understand. For some reason, it made him think back on all the people he’d loved and lost—but this time with placid melancholy rather than pain and guilt.

  “My mom used to put a candle in the window on Christmas Eve,” Finn said suddenly, compelled by an impulse. Spencer turned his head to look at him. “It’s a tradition to welcome wanderers to the feast. An Irish thing.”

  “That wouldn’t be so wise now, even on Christmas.” Spencer was still looking at Finn sideways, studying him like one would a painting or a statue. “Not with the kind of wanderers usually prowling the streets.”

  “I guess not,” Finn conceded. At the same time, he thought about those few who were lost out there, much as all of them had been at some point or another, without anyone to help or a welcoming light to guide them home. Irish or not, he’d had incredible luck so far. He only wished it would hold for a little bit longer. “It would be nice to see something like that again, though, wouldn’t it? Since there’s not much chance of decking a Christmas tree or putting up decorations on the front lawn.”

  Spencer chuckled. “Plenty of snow, though. Perhaps we can expect a white Christmas.”

  “A winter wonderland throughout the land,” Finn agreed, laughing. “Complete with roaming gangs of marauders, polluted snow, and hail big enough to kill a dinosaur. What an enchanting way to spend a holiday. Maybe there’ll be another storm, just to complete the picture.”

  “I wouldn’t care about any of that, if the company was right,” Spencer said, his tone oddly shy.

  It occurred to Finn that perhaps Spencer had the right idea. Wasn’t the whole point of holidays spending them with the people you loved? His parents and extended family were all long gone, but he still had Siobhan. And wasn’t the fact that they were both still together, having persisted and held on for yet another year, reason enough to be joyous and forget their troubles and the perils of the outside world for just one special day?

  And if there was someone else he wanted to be with, someone who made his heart flutter with unexpected delight, wouldn’t it make the holiday that much nicer?

  He couldn’t deny that he found Spencer attractive. Not only his appearance but also his calm air of self-assuredness born out of confidence rather than cockiness. Despite being pressed to play the game of survival, Spencer had shown nothing but compassion—a trait that was as close to extinction as humanity itself.

  “I have to thank you again,” Finn said, pretending to study the pattern of oily residue floating on the surface of the soup. “You’ve done so much for us, way beyond anything I could ever have expected. We’ve kept you pretty busy, considering you planned on heading back right away.”

  Spencer shrugged.

  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. Really, I’m here for as long as you need me.” He peered up at Finn, above the edge of his soup bowl, looking suddenly troubled. “Would you like me to leave?”

  “No! Not at all,” Finn rushed to say, quickly raising his head and abandoning all pretense at nonchalance. Spencer leaving was the exact opposite of what he was hoping for when he started this conversation. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad to be here.”

  For a long, charged moment, their gazes locked. A silent understanding seemed to pass between them, like a spark igniting a new flame over old embers.

  The words hovered on the tip of Finn’s tongue. Words that would change everything; the question that was already answered by the look in Spencer’s eyes. The simple fact that Spencer was still there, beside him, made it clear Finn’s feelings, confused as they might be, weren’t unrequited. But it still wasn’t the time to explore them.

  And deep down, Finn wasn’t entirely sure if he should say anything at all, even when the time came. This shattered world they lived in had no room for anything other than the bare necessities, and Finn harbored no illusions that he, of all people, deserved any better. Finding love among the ruins was only a romantic notion, nothing more than a wistful dream to be dispelled by harsh reality as surely as all the other dregs of old-time nostalgia.

  Chapte
r Six

  “WILL YOU STOP fussing? I’ll be fine,” Siobhan said.

  She was sitting on her makeshift bed, a colorful knitted throw wrapped around her shoulders, warming her hands on a cup of hot water. She gave both men a stern look, which made them shift uncomfortably on their feet.

  For the last few days, Spencer had been scouting the neighborhood for a new home for Finn and Siobhan during his hunting and gathering excursions. According to him, there were some suitable places, but they had to be vetted by Finn, at least, since Siobhan was still prone to harsh coughing fits and a bit too weak to venture outside. She insisted Spencer and Finn go see them together, but Finn was loath to leave her alone again, even for a short while.

  “Maybe Spencer should stay here with you,” he said. “What if someone comes this way?”

  “Then I’ll handle them. In the worst case, I’ll hide upstairs. No one would want to check out a ruined house anyway.”

  Finn wasn’t so sure, or as confident as her, but Siobhan’s glare made it clear he had nothing to gain by insisting.

  “Okay, fine. We’ll be back before you know it. Try not to stab us when we come back this time, okay?”

  Siobhan stuck out her tongue at him and then, as Finn and Spencer climbed the stairs that led outside and propped the busted door to cover the entrance, instructed: “Pick a nice one!”

  The fine weather had held for the past few days, and that day was no different. No sign of approaching storm marred the sky. The sun was shining somewhere above, washing everything in relatively bright ambient light. It was still very cold, but the deep snowdrifts were turning into slush, and tiny dirty rivulets ran under their feet as Finn and Spencer made their way down the street.

  In a weird way, Finn could feel the thaw in his bones. No doubt the good weather was only a temporary respite in the volatile atmospheric conditions, but inside him, it ran deeper—a pivotal shift that chipped away at the frost that had encased his heart for all these years. It was as if the clouds of ash and dust and smoke had slowly dissipated, and he could finally take a breath of fresh air. He’d only dreamed of that happening, but he couldn’t deny the change in his way of thinking, letting himself dwell on something beyond the vicissitude of the present. And he knew exactly what—or who—had brought it about.

  Perhaps he’d done nothing to earn any of it, but maybe—just maybe—he could have that sort of happiness after all.

  “You might not get your white Christmas, with this kind of weather,” Spencer said jokingly.

  “That’s okay. I already have everything I want.”

  Spencer turned to look at him, his eyes searching. His expression was guarded, but there was a sort of vulnerable hopefulness to his gaze.

  Tentatively, Finn reached out and took Spencer’s gloved hand. Spencer’s fingers tightened on his own, and his mouth quirked. Without saying anything, they both turned and continued onward, their hands clasped together as if they were on a leisurely stroll.

  Despite Finn’s misgivings, they didn’t spot any signs of human habitation or chance presence. No smoke rose from the houses, and there were no recent footprints in the snow, aside from their own. In survival mode, people tended to flock to the remnants of the cities, which offered more in terms of shelter and readily available resources. There were those who tried to live off the land, growing whatever crops or livestock they could, but they usually tended to favor more remote and secluded spots than the suburbs.

  Even so, a lot of the houses were in poor condition. Like their current abode, many had been damaged by the recent weather, and several (especially the larger, more opulent-looking ones) had been broken into and picked clean down to the floorboards.

  “I think I found one that answers pretty much everything on your wish list,” Spencer said, sounding for all the world like a proper real estate agent.

  Finn grinned in response.

  “Does it have a hot tub, too?”

  “It can, if you find a big enough tank and don’t mind lighting a fire in the middle of the bathroom,” Spencer said, deadpan.

  Finn snickered and followed him down the long driveway. The house was roughly the same size as the one they were living in now, and the exterior didn’t look that appealing, with crumbling old-fashioned stucco decorating the walls. The front lawn area was cluttered with a few rusted cars and rotting tree trunks partially buried in snow. But by now, Finn knew what to take note of and what to ignore. The roof appeared to be in good condition, with barely any shingles missing, and there were no gaping holes anywhere he could see. It was also single story, so it would be easier to maintain and keep heated.

  As they approached, it became clear the house wasn’t without its faults. All the windows were smashed and broken, with some of the frames ripped out. But those could easily be boarded up or screened. Perhaps with Spencer’s help, they’d be able to fit them with some shutters.

  “No key that I could find,” Spencer said. “But the front door still stands. Maybe you could put on a latch.”

  With a turn of the doorknob, the front door opened into a rather spacious living room. A wide arch led into the kitchen, which was surprisingly pristine, including the now useless appliances. Even the granite countertops were all in one piece, aside from some chipping on the edges.

  There was a large fireplace taking up a corner of the living room—also an important point. The ability to have an open fire with proper ventilation was imperative to heating and cooking and boiling their drinking water. The rest of the open space was littered with old and broken furniture. A stained blue velvet couch sat in the middle of it, facing the fireplace. A stale, moldy smell permeated the house; the familiar odor of decay and disuse. Each step they took sent a flurry of dust particles into the air, swirling and scattering like a flock of spooked birds.

  “There’s another one in the master bedroom,” Spencer said as Finn checked out the fireplace. “I thought perhaps Siobhan could take it.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Finn could feel Spencer’s gaze on the back of his head without looking, almost as tangible as a caress.

  “Do you like it?”

  Finn finally turned to face the other man. The room suddenly seemed to shrink, confined to the few feet that separated them, with everything else going out of focus, the smells and shabbiness fading into the background. Spencer’s face, when he threw back the hood of his coat, stood out against the dim interior, his features a picture of ruggedness. Finn’s mouth went dry and his pulse quickened as he gazed into those blue eyes, the long-forgotten stirrings of desire pushing up to the surface.

  The suddenness and the acuteness of it surprised him. But was it really that unexpected? He’d been aware his feelings for Spencer had evolved over the past few days, growing beyond gratitude into something deeper, more intimate. And he wouldn’t have minded for that intimacy to extend to…other things. If, of course, Spencer was of like mind.

  “I definitely like what I see,” he said, his voice dropping low. He let his eyes linger on Spencer, so there was no mistaking his meaning.

  Judging by the way Spencer’s eyes darkened, and the quickening of his breath, he had a similar idea. He took a step toward Finn, raising his hand to touch him, but halted, as if unsure the advance was indeed welcome.

  Finn closed the distance between them, reaching out to trace the line of Spencer’s jaw with his fingertips. He slid a hand behind the other man’s nape and pulled him down into a kiss.

  Spencer’s lips found his own in a tentative touch, so light it was as if he was asking for Finn’s permission to taste him. Something about that gentle courtliness struck a chord deep inside, and for a second, Finn had to fight down tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. But the last thing he wanted was for Spencer to see him crying and come to the wrong conclusion. He opened up readily, letting Spencer explore his mouth, coaxing him with his tongue until the kiss became deeper, more demanding. He undid Spencer’s coat and let his hands roam Spencer’s body, feeling the h
ard, tense muscles through the layers of clothing.

  Spencer’s arms closed around him in a tight embrace, just on the cusp of crushing.

  “I was afraid to say anything.” His hot breath ghosted over Finn’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “In case you didn’t feel the same. Do you want to…?”

  “Yes.” How odd there was no tremor in his voice while his heart was hammering so fast, it seemed like his whole body was pulsing along with it. “I want to. I want you.”

  He sucked in a quick breath as Spencer released him and dropped to his knees. The living room was too cold and too dingy to serve as a romantic setting for the sort of activities Finn’s enthusiastic imagination readily suggested, but it seemed Spencer had a better idea anyway.

  Finn moaned when Spencer pushed his pants down, and his warm mouth closed around his cock. He spread his legs wider and gripped Spencer’s shoulders to counter the weakness in his knees, and closed his eyes, reveling in the half-forgotten sensation of lips dragging across sensitive skin, of tightening heat pulling on his flesh. Everything else but the pleasure rapidly building at the bottom of his spine fled from his mind, and he had to consciously restrain himself from bucking wildly into Spencer’s mouth.

  It wasn’t going to last. It had been way too long, and the lust, amplified by a much stronger emotion, burned too brightly to be held back.

  “Spencer,” he said, unsure whether it was a shout or a whisper, and let go, the searing fire washing over him. He cried out and came, shooting spurt after spurt into Spencer’s mouth.

  The orgasm was so intense that, for a heartbeat, Finn was sure he’d been deafened and blinded by it. He was left breathless, drowned by the incandescent tide. His knees finally buckled, and he sagged to the floor into Spencer’s waiting arms, clinging to him until his breath steadied.