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The wind howled, low and guttural, like something ancient prowling just outside the windows. The House by the Sea groaned in its joints. The fireplace downstairs had long since gone out, and Linus, despite being clad in two jumpers, a pair of woolly socks, and what could only be described as aggressively flannel pyjama bottoms, was still bloody freezing.
He lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as if the peeling corners of the plaster might offer warmth or wisdom. They did neither. The chill crept in from all directions, a damp, salty cold that felt oddly personal.
Arthur, meanwhile, lay beside him, serenely asleep, or pretending to be. Git.
Linus turned onto his side with exaggerated care, trying not to jostle the blankets too much as he tugged the second one up over his shoulder. Still, a shiver crept in, uninvited. His teeth clicked together with the betrayal of it.
"You're fidgeting," Arthur mumbled into the pillow, voice thick with sleep but far too amused for Linus’s liking.
"I’m freezing," Linus hissed. "I think my soul’s begun to crystallise."
Arthur shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled to face him. "Strange. I’m quite toasty."
Linus glared at the vague outline of him in the dark. Arthur’s silhouette was infuriatingly composed, broad-shouldered and long-limbed, even half-submerged in bedding. "Of course you are. You’re a bloody phoenix. You're probably sweating fire while the rest of us perish."
"That’s a bit dramatic."
"I’m not being dramatic. I’m shivering in iambic pentameter."
Arthur chuckled, soft and low, then reached out under the blankets. His hand, when it found Linus’s arm, was scandalously warm.
Linus paused. Then, "Is that natural?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your temperature," Linus muttered, face now buried in the pillow to hide the fact he was flushing, though likely not enough to feel it. "You’re unnaturally warm. It’s not normal."
"I’m not normal, love."
Linus groaned. "I walked straight into that one."
"Mmhm." There was a rustling shift, and then Arthur opened his arms. "Come here, then, since you’re on the verge of frostbite."
"I’m not," Linus said, but his body betrayed him, already edging closer before his pride could assemble a proper rebuttal.
Arthur pulled him in easily, folding around him with the sort of casual intimacy that Linus still hadn’t entirely adjusted to. Arthur was all lean warmth and sleep-heavy grace. Linus, with his soft belly and thick frame, pressed in gingerly at first, self-conscious and chilled, but soon gave way to the comfort of it, breath catching slightly as heat soaked into his bones.
It was like hugging a furnace made of love and cheekbones. Linus gave an involuntary sigh, muffled into Arthur’s chest.
"Better?" Arthur asked, his lips brushing Linus’s forehead.
Linus didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
Instead, he muttered, "You’re obnoxiously comfortable."
"And you’re cold," Arthur said, smug now. "Luckily, I’m a generous man."
Linus huffed, nose still buried in the warm hollow of Arthur’s collarbone. "You’re lucky I love you."
Arthur grinned against his hair. "I’m boiling and lucky? My stars are aligned."
Linus rolled his eyes, not that Arthur could see it. He stayed where he was, stubborn and burrowed deep.
Arthur’s hand slipped up beneath the hem of Linus’s jumper, fingertips skimming the cool skin of his lower back. Linus jolted.
"Bloody hell, Arthur!"
Arthur chuckled. "You're like a walking icicle. I’m surprised you’ve not cracked in half."
Linus mumbled something rude into Arthur’s chest.
"Here," Arthur murmured, tucking the blankets more snugly around Linus and rubbing slow circles into his back. "You just need a bit of thawing."
Linus huffed. "You sound like you’re trying to poach me."
"If I were poaching you, love, you'd already be bubbling."
That earned a grudging chuckle. Linus pressed his face deeper into the warm curve of Arthur’s neck, letting the silence settle.
Arthur’s voice was softer now. "You always act like you’re putting me out when you need this. But I like being warm for you. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?"
Linus didn’t answer at first. But his fingers curled into Arthur’s shirt, a quiet, grateful thing. His voice came barely above a whisper. "I suppose it’s not the worst thing, to be loved by a personal furnace."
Arthur smiled. "Exactly. Functional and affectionate."
Linus made a noise that could have been embarrassment or contentment, perhaps both.
They stayed like that for a while, the wind outside still hurling itself at the walls. And for the first time that evening, Linus didn’t feel the cold. Just the steady heartbeat beneath his ear, and the kind of warmth you didn’t have to earn.