Heatwave [PickxRome | OffGun]

05

this is the longest chapter yet! i do hope you enjoy.

i just quickly want to take a moment to thank everyone for reading/voting/commenting, it wouldn't be even half as much fun without you guys, and your comments honestly make my day 💚💚

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Detaching himself from Rome's lips is almost painful, but Pick can feel the small tremors running through his body - and not the good kind.

A final, small kiss. Then another, before Pick draws back slightly.

Rome makes a sound of protest, clinging on, and Pick has to gently unwind Rome's arms from his neck. The utter sweetness of it actually makes Pick's heart hurt.

He takes Rome's hand. It's small and cold, which only makes Pick want to hold it more, each and every protective instinct flaring to life.

"C'mon, you're freezing."

Rome lets himself be led inside, the fingers of his other hand back around Pick's wrist, as if to ensure Pick's hold on him.

There's still no light, but the prolonged exposure to the dark has made Pick's eyes adjust. He manages not to trip them up as he leads Rome upstairs and straight into the bathroom.

The sound of rain is louder here, closer to the roof, and the single window in the bathroom is rattling faintly.

"You should take a hot shower to warm up," Pick says, letting go of Rome's hand to rummage for a towel in the dark. "There should be enough hot water left over, but you'll have to be quick. We won't get any more until the power comes back on."

Pick finally drags out the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and returns to Rome, pressing it against this chest until Rome accepts it.

"Will you be alright in the dark, or do you want me to bring a candle?"

"I'll be okay," Rome answers quietly. "I've got good night vision."

Pick nods. "Alright. I'll go and get you some dry clothes."

He steps back, loathe to leave Rome's side for even a minute, but wanting to get him warm, dry and comfortable first and foremost. But as he turns to go, Rome's hand shoots out to catch his wrist once more, fingers still distressingly cold.

"P'Pick," Rome says.

And it's all he says, but Pick can hear all the unsaid things in it.

Wordlessly he returns, cupping Rome's chilly face as he bends down to kiss him again, slowly. Rome makes a soft sound, then pushes in close, the bulk of the towel a subtle pressure against Pick's back as Rome holds on to him.

Pick intended for the kiss to be chaste, no more than gentle reassurance. But then Rome's lips are parting beneath his own and before he knows it, he has Rome up against the shower wall, their tongues touching heatedly between panting breaths.

It's only when Rome's icy fingers find their way up the back of Pick's t-shirt that he remembers why they're in here in the first place.

He wrenches himself free, reluctant but determined to get this over with so they can move to somewhere more comfortable. Rome makes to follow his mouth, but Pick pushes him away gently.

"Fucking get in there, already," Pick says, but brushes Rome's sopping fringe from his forehead to soften the words. "I don't want you catching a cold."

"Yeah, best not," Rome says and Pick can hear the beginning of a smile in his voice. "You'd make an awful nurse."

Pick bristles. "And who's been feeding you this past week? My soup would probably heal you instantly."