Licoln and octavia cuddles in their bed all day because its so cold outside that they have to stay close to keep warm
Fun fact: It’s been raining all day today, non-stop, and I have stayed home and done nothing (well, i cooked and cleaned) but it went well with the setting of this story.
Lincoln wakes up, startled by her sudden cry, shoulders already tense and ready to face whatever it is that’s frightened her. His hand is already inching for the blade beside his bed, eyes slowly acclimating to the darkness.
“Holy fuck, it’s freezing!”
His roving eyes snap back to Octavia who’s now rubbing her bare arms, goosebumps visible even in the darkness. The fire has gone out, a few dark embers still flickering here and there but the cold permeating through the walls of the house have doused their heat source completely.
“Is that why you screamed?” he asks, somewhat annoyed. His shoulders start loosening up, staring at her with definite irritation.
“I didn’t scream,” she says defensively, nearly falling off the bed as her arm stretches as far it can go and reaches for the sweater hanging on the chair. She puts is on quickly, her hair standing up wildly as it rubs against the fabric, and she shivers her way out of bed to walk to the fire. “I exclaimed.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes, rubbing his face hard before getting up to help her. She’s not wrong though. It’s absolutely freezing but there’s no snow or sleet; he can hear the wind howling outside and can still smell the rain from last night. There’s a thick fog that’s making it hard to see outside of the windows and it isolates them from the rest of the world. Together, they bring the fire back to life, Octavia dancing around as she holds out her hands to get warm.
They catch each others’ eyes and her wicked smile brings out his. They run back to bed, like children, and launch themselves under the covers, snuggling as close as possible, feeling cold hands on warm places, cold feet curling around each other, and Octavia’s shrieks as he places his hands on her back have him laughing loudly. They feel themselves thawing out beneath the thick comforter— the rain has started again in earnest, pitter-pattering against the windows and roof. It blankets out any other sound from outside, like static noise, and it allows them to whisper to each other, stupid things, things that make them laugh, stories from his childhood, and stories Octavia has read in her books.
They fall asleep sometime later, neither knows when, and Lincoln wakes up with Octavia trailing kisses all over his jaw, lazy kisses with no energy but with all the affection she can muster. The covers are thrown off as the moaning starts and soon goosebumps are raised again, not because of the chill of the day, but because of his teeth on her breasts and her hand cupping his rear, crying more, more.
When they can breathe properly again, they comment of the weather, on the never-ending rain that feels like will soon drown them all. They stare at the windows, a white sheet of constant showers that does not allow them to see anything outside and they’re glad for it. Lincoln takes the time they have to teach her how to draw and though her first attempts are horrible, they’re soon laughing as they compare drawings— hers look like a child made them and he purposely makes his awful.
They take time to cook a simple soup with the ingredients they have. Neither says it but they don’t have any intentions of leaving their house, no matter what plans they had for that day, and so their meal consists of rice and soup which they eat in bed, talking easily about their past week. He shares with her his discomfort when he attended the wedding of an Ice Nation leader with the daughter of another Woods Clan member. Lincoln was the only one still in contact with her and though nothing bad had happened so far (as far as he knows) Lincoln is still feeling uneasy about it. Octavia hears him out (she agrees—the man is an absolute rat and probably just as disgusting as one) and agrees that maybe they should visit soon.
After supper and a quick cleanup, they sink into the bed again. The fire warms the home enough so that Octavia can climb on his back with only his shirt and starts massaging his back, her thumbs rubbing circles on the tension knots on his lower back. Her hands soon start hurting from the pressure she’s putting on his muscles but she doesn’t relent. She would love to draw the line of his spine, the way the finer tendons run to the sides, like the rivers she’s seen in her travels, the raised skin of his scars. But she thinks that even paintings wouldn’t do him justice. No color could truly capture the depth of his dark skin or the way he smells or how he tastes on her tongue. No amount of talent could capture the warmth his presence instills in her nor the love she has for him in her heart. No, nothing could ever translate into something tangible how it feels to have his stubble scratch her inner thigh as he inches his way up or the way he kisses her after she pleasures him with her mouth.
Octavia briefly wonders if anyone in the outside world is missing them. They both had things to do that day and honestly she can’t really remember what they were— it’s something she doesn’t concern herself about. His hands are messing up her hair and if there’s any pastime she loves the most, it’s studying his hands. Half an hour later, when she’s had her fill and the thunder starts in earnest, she rests her cheek against his palm and asks him to make love to her.
