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Roland is milling about at the window of his hotel room. He’s not looking at anything in particular, but he does notice the sheet-white snow piling up atop the streets and buildings lining the city below him. Normally, he’d people watch, but you’d be hard pressed to spot even that of a wild animal out in a snowstorm like this. He’s almost mesmerized at the speed of the blizzard taking place around his building – figuring the flight to the next destination on their tour is as good as canceled.
Not that he minds much. An inconvenience, sure, but things could be a lot worse – he's always had a deathly fear of flying. He’d rather be anywhere than on a plane. The hotel he’s taking refuge in at the moment is safe. Warm. On the ground. And, if he’s honest – he isn't too thrilled with the idea of going to the states, anyway.
With nothing better to do, he loses himself in the moment. Roland smiles softly with his hand leant against his face, arm propped up by the windowsill. His features were illuminated by the artificial glow of the streetlamps and neon lights littered around outside.
Suddenly, the dimness of the room surrounding him is cut in half by a near blinding stab of light emerging from behind him, the door creaking open a tadge. He hears some shuffling and clinking before the door is swung open almost entirely, the streak of light expanding. Though, before he can even look, it clicks shut and the room is submerged back into a comfortable darkness.
Soft footsteps pad closer, and Roland turns around to meet eyes with the man behind him.
“Um, hey,” Curt huffs, noticeably a bit shaken up and out of breath. He looks down to shuffle some more with the glasses in his hands and the bottle of white wine tucked under his arm before continuing. “I got some wine from the store,” he smiles.
Roland does a double take.
“You went out in this? For wine?"
Curt places the bottle and glasses on the windowsill and sheds his snow-covered coat, throwing it haphazardly onto the bed beside him.
“Well, yeah. Figured we could use some,” he peers out the window to assess the storm. “I don’t think they’ll be letting us out anytime soon.”
“You nearly killed yourself for wine…?”
Curt only tuts at this, and gets to pouring their drinks, offering a glass to Roland. He accepts, taking a sip. He’s never been one to turn down a nice glass of wine. And with all the effort Curt went to…
He turns his head to look at him again. He’s shaking ever so slightly, and his hands and face are flushed a bright red. There’s melting snow in his tousled hair, and a tremor in his hand as he lifts his glass to meet his lips. He’d never seen him look more cold. All the same, there’s a noticeable warmth to be found in his deep brown eyes and the playful smirk on his face, and Roland feels a warmth of his own spread inside his chest.
Curt’s eyes flicker across, almost side-eyeing him.
“What are you looking at?” he questions, amused.
Roland knows he’s just messing with him, but the warmth in his chest turns frigid like the ice outside – an unmistakable sense of guilt creeping its way up.
“Ah, um. Nothing,” he diverts his attention back to the scene displayed through his window. “I heard it's supposed to snow like this all night.”
“I bloody hope so, I’m so tired of all this moving around. Think we deserve a day in bed.”
“Sure,” Roland says absentmindedly, more focused on the array of snowflakes glittering before them. He takes another sip from his glass, a familiar acidic sweetness overtaking his senses.
Curt frowns.
“Hey, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, I–”
He’s still shivering.
“...Hold on.”
Roland sets down the glass and makes his way to his opened suitcase. He rummages through it for anything warm, settling on an old black jumper with a faded blue floral pattern sewn into it. The other contents of the bag spill out onto the floor, but he takes no notice, and offers the sweater to Curt. “I’m sorry, I can't stand seeing you so cold.”
Curt’s lost on what to do for a second. His half-empty glass joins Roland’s on the windowsill and he reaches out to take the jumper, his fingers brushing against Roland’s as they meet the fabric. His face flushes a little more, but it’s not just the cold nipping at his cheeks now.
It’s not exactly warm when he puts it on, it’ll take a bit of time to heat up, but it's cozy. It’s cozy and it's warm and it smells like him. Like home.
He looks away as he feels Roland’s soft gaze on him. He won't look to see but he knows he’s smiling, and he buries his hands somewhere in the fuzzy fabric of the pullover.
“Um, thank you,” Curt manages.
Roland reaches for his glass again and turns around to lean against the radiator, away from the window he was so focused on to aimlessly stare around the hotel room.
“S’alright,” he pauses for another sip from his glass before continuing. “It suits you.”
Curt buries himself deeper into the jumper.
“You’ve had too much to drink, you have,” he laughs out, flustered.
They share clothes a lot, true, but something about this feels… different. Roland feels an odd sense of pride, almost possessiveness, that he shoves deep in the back of his mind whenever he lets Curt wear his clothes – but there's a certain intimacy lingering in the atmosphere, bringing that feeling right back up to weigh on the forefront of his conscience.
They don't get much time alone anymore, and when they do it’s certainly not close together and isolated like this. It's quiet and dark, but warm and comforting. The complete white-out raging on mere centimeters away envelops the both of them entirely, and it feels as if himself, Curt, and this room could very well be the only things to ever exist. There's a part of him that wishes this was the case; a part of him that longs for Curt and nothing but Curt.
Or maybe it’s the wine.
Roland laughs with him. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s nice, though. You look nice.”
“Don't,” Curt pulls a face, somewhere in between a shy smile and a distorted grimace – attempting to conceal it behind the glass he’s raised up to his lips. He downs the rest of his drink and gently places it back onto the windowsill before wandering over to his bed. Pushing the coat left there onto the floor rather carelessly, he discovers the snow that previously adorned it has since melted into the sheets.
“Fuck,” he spat. “Oh, fucking hell. I’m proper stupid, aren't I?” He turns to Roland and giggles, but there’s annoyance laced into his tone. Roland smiles and shakes his head, picking up the discarded coat and folding it neatly over the radiator.
“Come here.”
Curt’s eyes widen as Roland wraps a warm hand around his wrist to lead him to the other bed, wine bottle clutched in his other hand.
“Oh god, no, Roland, it’s fine–”
“You’re cold enough as it is, you poor sod! Besides, I’m not sleeping yet, anyway.”
Roland lets go of Curt to sit down, the bed dipping slightly as he makes contact with it. He takes a swig directly from the bottle and offers it up to Curt, who’s still standing above him with the most puzzled expression etched into his features.
“Gross, you didn't even pay for that…”
“Oh, who cares? Here, take it. We’ll share.”
“That's what I bought the glasses for, is it not?”
“Well… yeah, but they're all the way over there…”
Curt rolls his eyes and takes the bottle from Roland’s grasp, sitting down next to him. They were close enough to where their thighs were touching, and Curt could feel the warmth radiating off of him.
He gives Roland a look and takes a swig. “I thought you were all fancy about wine?”
Roland takes the bottle back. “Only in fancy company.”
“What are you trying to say?” Curt retorts, feigning offense.
“I’m saying…” Roland starts, swirling the alcohol around before drinking some more, “I don't have to put up a face around you. I can do or say whatever and you don't care, you know? I can drink wine straight from the bottle, and leave clothes on the floor, ‘cause you don't care and I don't have to pretend to.”
“Roland…”
He leans against him ever so slightly and turns his head, hoping to meet eyes with his friend, but instead finds him downing even more wine.
“H-hey–! You’ve had your turn!” Curt drunkenly flails his arms around in an attempt to snatch the bottle back, but Roland holds it just out of reach, Curt colliding directly into him after another failed attempt. Roland reaches over to put it onto the nightstand in case it spills and throws his arms around Curt’s neck to drag him down onto the bed, dissolving completely into a fit of laughter.
It dies down into giggles and eventually Roland pushes himself off of Curt – propping himself up to where he effectively had his friend pinned, hovering above him with a goofy smile plastered across his face. He brushes the loose curls of Curt’s hair back into place and slides his hand down to stroke his cheek, noticing he isn’t cold anymore. He’s almost burning, melting into his touch.
“I mean it, though. I know we don't hang out like we did before all this but I still trust you more than anyone else. No one comes close.”
There's a fuzzy feeling blooming within him, sending little sparks flying underneath his skin, but Curt can't bring himself to verbally return any affection. Instead, he snakes his hand up and around the back of Roland’s, nuzzling his face against it, hoping it’ll get the message across that Roland means just as much to him too.
“You mean it?” he whispers.
“Of course I do, I just said I did–!”
They breathe out some more hushed giggles, and Roland figures that they’re drunk enough for him to get away with leaning down to kiss Curt. He brushes his lips against his friend’s, connecting them in a soft, chaste kiss – lips already somewhat wet from the wine they were drinking. With a slight smack, Roland draws back a little, feeling his hot breath mingle with the other's, before pulling back completely to gauge Curt’s reaction. It was nothing they hadn't done before, he could easily play it off as a platonic joke.
But before he could make his way up, Curt had moved his hands up to cup both sides of Roland’s face, pulling him back down into another, deeper kiss. It was unexpected, but Roland relaxed into it, repositioning himself and rolling onto his side. Curt slotted his thigh in between Roland’s legs, pushing himself up enough to slightly hover over him. Roland slid his arms around Curt’s waist – holding him and stroking the soft, squishy flesh with the pads of his thumbs, making Curt arch his back and let out a gentle hum. He breaks away for just a moment to catch his breath before returning to Roland’s parted lips.
Roland rubbed his hands up and down Curt’s back, hopelessly lost in this kiss. The growing tension was becoming too strong to bear. His hands made their way down to Curt’s lower back, fingers sliding underneath the hem of his baggy sweatpants. He traced rhythmic patterns gently across his skin, causing Curt to whimper and turn his head to the side to break away for air a second time. Roland leans his head up and peppers little kisses along Curt’s neck, stopping at the base of it to graze his teeth against the skin before leaning in to suck it slowly and softly, flattening his tongue against the flesh. Curt’s hands flew down to snag in Roland’s hair as he pressed himself against him, fingers becoming caught in and intertwined with the dark curls woven atop his head. He gasped and moaned breathily, rolling his hips against the other and letting out silent pleas.
He was lost in a moment that he never wanted to end, but his friend’s tight embrace felt good enough to lull him to sleep. Feeling them melt into one being, his eyes fluttered closed without him even noticing. It was only when his hands had slipped out of Roland’s hair and down the back of his neck that Roland realised, unlatching his swollen lips from the purple bruise he’d painted onto his skin.
“Curt?” he whispered cautiously. “Hey, Curt? You still awake?”
Curt’s eyes eased themselves open, “...Huh? I didn't fall asleep, did I?”
Roland breathes out a laugh and loosens his hold on Curt’s back, “I wouldn't be surprised.”
With considerable reluctance, Roland ruffles his friend’s hair and gets up, separating their interwoven bodies. He extends a hand to help Curt up from the bed, knowing in his sleepy state he wouldn't even be able to realise he should be getting up too. Wrapping his arms around him to kiss him again, he lets him collapse into his hold before peeling back the plush bedsheets and guiding them both underneath.
Roland leaves a quick kiss against Curt’s forehead, and combs his fingers through his curly hair while lacing their legs together. Curt leans into his touch fully, nestling his head right into Roland’s chest and wrapping his arms lazily around his waist – his steady, content breathing lulling him again into a deep sleep. As he’s drifting off, he hears Roland sigh and whisper an “I love you,” into his hair. Curt hums at this, and holds him tighter, returning his words in his own tired way.
Roland hopes the snow will stick around in the morning, and hopes it’ll be piled high enough to block all the doors, never thawing or melting so he never has to leave Curt’s embrace.