TW: (bowchickawowow)

Title: ~Snowstorm~

Leaning against the passenger side door, shoulders hunched and chin buried within the thick scarf around his neck, Trott glares out of the window. Snow is falling outside at an alarming rate, whirling around in the air as it cascades around the car and coats the surrounding West Country fields in blankets of pure white.

“Uh, Trott?” Smith’s unsure voice only sparks a twinge of mild irritation in Trott’s chest, but still he rolls his head across the back of his seat to glare at Smith over the top of his scarf. Bottom lip between his teeth, expression already apologetic, Smith slowly drags his eyes away from looking furtively between windscreen and dashboard.

“Is that light meant to be flashing?” Trott frowns, mild irritation falling away for distinct worry as he pushes himself out of the passenger seat as much as his seatbelt will allow and squints at the light in question. The check engine light; it would be the check engine light.

“Fuck,” He curses under his breath, “Pull over.” He tells Smith, who seems surprised by the sudden order and fumbles over the steering wheel as he answers.

“What- where?!” High pitched with a twinge of panic, Smith slows the car whilst Trott leans forward in his seat and stares out of the windscreen trying to see ahead by even a little bit through the thickening snow storm.

“There!” He exclaims suddenly, pointing to the right of the narrow country lane where he can barely make out the turn-in for a large field gate. Flopping back into his seat and rubbing at his arms to try and regain the warmth he had lost when moving from the comfy spot it had taken him at least twenty minutes to find, Trott huffs a cloud of impatient breath into the air as Smith pulls over.

“Stay here. I’ll go check under the bonnet.” Trott mumbles, grumpy about having to get out of the relative warmth of the car. Bumping his door open with his hip, he brings a hand up to shield his eyes from the rapidly falling snow as he makes his way around to the front of the car. Hearing a faint click beneath the noisy rush of wind as Smith unlocks the bonnet for him, Trott lifts it up and immediately steps back.

Waving a hand in front of his face to disperse the sudden hot air that has guffed towards him, Trott squints at the interior of the car where it looks like nothing is wrong. Sighing and feeling an itch of confusion before remembering that he knows next to nothing about car mechanics, Trott swears under his breath again and slams the bonnet shut.

Immediately whipping his phone out of his pocket, thumbing through his contacts to find the number of his mechanic, Trott curls in on himself against the cold as he puts the phone to his ear.

Nothing. A few beeps and the phone immediately hangs up; no signal. Trott swears yet again and violently shoves his phone back into his pocket. Trudging back around to the passenger side of the car, wrenching the door open and practically throwing himself into the seat, Trott glares at the glovebox rather than look at Smith’s face. He can already see his guilty expression in his mind - he doesn’t need to actually set eyes on it.

“…That bad, huh?” Smith smiles nervously, fingers drumming where he has left them on the steering wheel despite having turned the engine off. Trott is covered in snow, and Smith licks his lips when his eyes cast over the way that some flakes are still clinging prettily to Trott’s eyelashes.

“Might’s well put engine back on - get the heating going.” Trott mumbles, avoiding Smith’s question as he pulls his jacket further around him and brings his knees up to his chest. Smith nods, tearing his eyes away from admiring the scrubbing of red across what he can see of Trott’s cheeks and bringing his fingers down to the now cold plastic of his keys.

The first time he turns them in the ignition the car stalls, and the second time, and the third. Smith swears loudly, trying again and again to get the engine to start. Slowly, Trott turns his head to watch Smith get steadily angrier at the lack of response from the car until the rage on Smith’s face makes him reach a hand out to grasp at Smith’s forearm.

“Stop, mate. You’ll only piss yourself off.” Trott says quietly, squeezing Smith’s arm until he yanks his hands away from the keys and steering wheel and lets them flop uselessly into his lap. The car seats creak with movement as Trott settles back into his own, curling back into his ball of body heat as Smith leans his head back against his headrest and huffs.

“Did you try the RAC?”

“No signal.” The words hang in the air for a moment before Alex swears again, sharp and loud in the quiet of the car, and drops his head forward onto the steering wheel. Trott watches him curiously, lifting a tentative hand as though about to reach out to his distressed friend before blushing and tucking it back under his other arm.

Rolling his forehead on the sticky leather of the wheel, breath fogging the air in front of him, Smith looks at Trott. Staring out of the window, bottom half of his face still mostly covered by scarf and legs pulled up on the seat with him, Trott looks almost childlike. Smith grins to himself, amused by the idea of Trott being seen as anything akin to innocent or vulnerable. A small sound of laughter escapes his mouth and immediately Trott whips his head around - eyes questioning.

“What?” Trott’s voice is muffled, but the bite isn’t lost. Smith drops his grin, feeling himself blush as he sits up and fidgets in his seat. The cold is already spreading around the car and nips at his exposed skin, and where he had been leaning on the steering wheel there is a dark pink line across his cheek.

“Nothing, nothing.” Smith leans back against his window, icy glass sending a shiver down his spine, and pretends not to see Trott narrowing his eyes. Frantically rubbing his hands over his arms in a sudden movement, Smith blows hot breath up into his fringe and stares out of the windscreen into the foggy grey of the still fast-falling snow.

“Fuck it’s cold.” He groans, arching his back against the uncomfortable bumps in the door. Trott hums in agreement, staring out of the windscreen as well. For a moment the two sit in silence; the air steadily cooling around them as they watch the tiny flecks of white blowing erratically around across a grey background.

Smith licks his lips. Flicking his eyes between Trott absently watching the snow, and the empty back seats of the car, Smith clears his throat and avoids Trott’s gaze when he looks over at him.

“Maybe we should… sit in the back so we can,” Smith clears his throat, idly rubbing at his arms more out of nervousness than cold, “y’know, huddle for warmth.”

Trott fixes Smith with a measured look, well aware that it’d be beneficial for the both of them to do like penguins and share body warmth. On the other hand, he is also aware of just how much he wants to be pressed up against Smith in a way that is not entirely for purely practical purposes. Smith’s eyes smash into his own, sparking emotions that only curl and swell in Trott’s stomach until he feels himself shrugging and hears himself speaking.

“Sure, why not.”

They worked out that, logistically, it’d be easier for Smith to sit across the back seats with Trott in his lap facing the front. Now, sat with his face alarmingly close to Trott’s chest and Trott’s arm around his shoulders, Smith concentrates on keeping his breathing steady in fear of giving away the warmth of a different kind that is sitting in his belly.

Trott feels the tense of Smith’s fingers against his waist, even through the layers of his jacket and hoody. The highest waves of Smith’s hair tickle his cheek and smell like the cheap apple shampoo he uses, and as Trott slowly moves the arm that isn’t around Smith’s shoulders to join his hands at Smith’s collarbone he feels his breathing hitch in his throat.

“Trott, I-” Smith croaks, and with earth shattering realisation Trott looks down at his friend and sees the barely withheld emotions carved into his features. His mouth falls open a little, parting his lips and turning each deep breath into tiny clouds.

“Smith?” Trott’s voice cracks, and Smith looks up at him with startlingly dark eyes. There is a beat of in-sync hearts and then Trott moves in a sudden shift of limbs and layered clothing. Legs either side of Smith’s, his hands on Smith’s shoulder, and pressing lightly at the front of his coat, Trott bites his bottom lip and looks straight into Smith’s wide eyes.

Awe splashes across Smith’s features, his hands hovering above the curve of Trott’s hips as he closely watches Trott’s face for any signs of a joke. Neither of them are sure who moves first, but when their lips press together in the middle both sigh into the touch and are eager to move their mouths against one another in soft kisses.

Trott’s coat shifts noisily as Smith finally wraps his arms around his middle; hands splayed across Trott’s back as he pulls him closer and savours both the body warmth and the feel of his lips. Trott’s own hands smooth up Smith’s front to cup his cheeks - fingertips brushing through coarse facial hair and tracing over the curve of his jaw.

Smith turns the both of them with a small yelp of surprise from Trott, though it just makes straddling Smith’s lap a whole lot easier. Hips press against each other, pushing moans between teeth and making Smith slip his hand towards the front of Trott’s jeans. Though a groan of pleasure brushes over Smith’s lips as Trott pulls away a little, Trott is quick to reach down and curl his fingers around Smith’s wrist to stay his touch.

“We can’t - mate, it’s fucking freezing.” Trott pants, leaning his forehead against Smith’s and hating how turned on he is at that moment. “There’s no way I’m taking any of my clothes off.”

At this, Smith only smirks and tilts his chin upwards so that he can start kissing Trott again.

“Who said anything about taking clothes off?” He whispers in between kisses, his hand moving again over the semi-hard bulge in Trott’s jeans. Trott moans, bucks his hips, and brings his hands to tighten on Smith’s shoulders; fingers digging into the thick material of his coat. Smith watches Trott’s face, enraptured by the flickers of pleasure that wash over his features as he slowly undoes his fly and rubs his fingers over the wonderfully warm, stretched cotton of Trott’s boxers.

“Is this good?” Smith murmurs into the chill of the car, unable to stop the smirk that curls his lips when Trott moans and bucks his hips again with a growl.

“Damn it, yes Smith,” Trott says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut when Smith slips his hand further into Trott’s jeans and circles his cock with his fingers. Stroking him through his boxers, enjoying every pant and whine of pleasure that tumbles over Trott’s lips, Smith lets himself moan in appreciation between small kisses to Trott’s mouth.

“Smith,” Trott mutters, hand dropping from Smith’s shoulder to rub his palm over where Smith is pressing hard against his jeans, “Let me touch you, mate?” There is fire in Trott’s eyes when he flicks them up to meet Smith’s; his hips still jerking and rolling towards the steady strokes of Smith’s hand.

Smith swallows hard as he nods, pressing hot kisses to Trott’s cheek as he feels Trott’s hands simultaneously pressing over his cock and unzipping his fly. Involuntarily rutting his hips towards Trott’s fingers when they trace the line of his arousal, Smith moans throatily and gently squeezes Trott’s cock in his grasp.

“Fuck, Trott, please,” He begs, feeling Trott trailing his fingertips along his length but not quite settling on stroking him yet. Trott’s grin carves itself into Smith’s stubble, his breath a warm flurry against Smith’s skin as he pauses his fingers completely and murmurs to him.

“Say that again,” Smith’s hand falters in Trott’s jeans, but Trott doesn’t mind too much as he watches Smith intently. Leaning back against the car seat, his eyes lidded with arousal and his cheeks flushed with the same, Smith licks his lips and gives Trott a pleading look.

“Please,” Trott grins at the word, moving his hand to pull Smith’s waistband aside so that he can push his hand into Smith’s boxers. The loud gasp that punches through the air when Trott’s hand starts to easily stroke hot, slick skin makes him moan in encouragement. Smith grasps at Trott’s thigh, at Trott’s hip as his head lolls back against the seat and his back arches in pure pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” Smith whispers, and Trott can’t help but raise an eyebrow at how close Smith is already, judging by the gulping breaths and the way his hips are moving fast and erratic towards his hand. Still, he leans forward and kisses at Smith’s neck - hand still moving steadily in Smith’s boxers as he feels each moan rumble in Smith’s throat.

“Trott- Trott!” Smith gasps, punctuating his exclamation with a groan as he comes suddenly into Trott’s hand and his boxers. Chest heaving, hips lifting off of the car seat, Smith’s face is a portrait of innate satisfaction as he comes down from his natural high. Rolling his head to look at Trott when he feels him take his hand away, Smith smiles lazily and pats Trott’s thigh.

“Move down the seat; sit back against the door,” Smith directs Trott in a soft, exhausted voice that makes Trott eye him suspiciously. Still, he does as Smith asks and moves so that he is sat back against the door. Watching carefully, Trott’s breath hitches in his throat as Smith shifts onto an awkward all fours on the back seat.

Smith grins, his hand running up Trott’s thigh as he stops with his head just above Trott’s hips. Fingers moving clothing out of the way, Smith dips his head down and takes Trott’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck,” The violent expulsion shoots out of Trott as his hips buck suddenly forward towards the wonderful heat of Smith’s mouth. Smith bobs his head, hand at the base of Trott’s length as he keeps his underwear out of the way and flicks his tongue expertly over the very tip of Trott’s arousal.

“Fucking hell, Smith!” Trott groans, head going back against the steamed up window behind it. One hand steadying himself on the back of the car seat, Trott threads the other down into Smith’s hair as pleasure floods his veins and makes him dizzy with sensation. Smith is good, really good, and Trott can’t help but wriggle and writhe beneath his hands; bucking his hips into Smith’s mouth for more.

Orgasm builds at the base of his spine, making him pull gently at Smith’s hair in warning between the frantic gasps of his name that fall over Trott’s lips. Smith seems unperturbed as he looks up and into Trott’s eyes - sending him over the edge with that shock of eye contact. Trott reels, mouth open in a silent scream as climax hits him into a brief daze.

Smith smiles as he swallows, breaking into a grin when he’s sure that none of Trott’s come is going to trickle into his beard. Tugging Trott’s underwear back into place, Smith sits back in the opposite car seat and watches lazily as Trott composes himself.

Fumbling as he does his trousers back up, blushing fervently and avoiding Smith’s unbearably smug expression, Trott happens to glance out of the window and blinks in surprise.

“Hey,” He says softly, a small smile spreading across his features, “I think it’s stopped snowing.”