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They had too many obligations around Christmas to have their big holiday party then. Instead, Richard held a gathering for his friends at a Swiss resort for the solstice. It wasn't Richard's taste on display, however. He (and Dominic and, Ash was forced to admit, probably Francis) would have sat around with brandy talking cars and watches for the entire time. Harry, however, with enthusiastic support from Ash and a notable lack of resistance from Julius, had wanted a theme party in honor of his boyfriend, and the VP of Cirencester Wealth Management could afford to indulge his cousin and friend.
There had been snowmobile racing and skiing. Harry and Ash had tried snowboarding, and then of course Julius turned out to be genuinely good at it. Ice sculptures were everywhere, flanking doorways, guarding the tops of the ski hills, supporting the refreshments tables.
Harry was so happy. Ash was glad for his friend. Julius did look beautiful, and somehow almost relaxed, at this party that seemed to be welcoming him back to life. Ash was also having a fantastic time himself. It turned out Francis had taken figure skating lessons as a child. He wasn't in practice anymore, of course, but the grace he cultivated in his life as an executive transformed into something exuberant on the ice. Also, while he didn't snowboard at all and declined to learn, he could outskate Julius for both speed and style, and that always put him in a good mood. Ash could go forwards competently enough and Harry had showed him a sort of sinuous two-footed shimmy that let him go backwards, but he landed on his rump twice trying some of Francis's fancier turns. It was great, even if it wasn't the usual reason he liked having an aching posterior.
And now there was dancing, outside, with the stars bright overhead and the ice sculptures sparkling all around them. A polyglot DJ presided from turntables set into an icy stage. Richard's assistant had somehow found a local queer scene in the middle of the Alps and invited a whole club's worth of young people. Harry and Ash had both independently brought leather trousers for this party. Harry paired his with a silver winter puffer vest; Ash wore thermals under his and went shirtless except for the glitter. As the designated Young People among Richard's friends, and with Harry acting as host, they were out early to meet the visitors and get things started. Ash enjoyed a few minutes just shooting the shit with Harry out in the wind. The moon was rising, and the moment Julius stepped outside Harry was going to be gone for the night.
The first time someone touched Ash's butt, he assumed it was an accident. He and Harry were chatting with a cluster of transfem non-binary people about the difficulties of French linguistic gender, and Ash was following maybe a third of the conversation, and had kind of zoned out a bit thinking about the way Francis moved in skates, so he didn't actually know if Harry was gesturing or what.
The second touch was a new friend, as they started dancing, nothing serious, just a hand sliding up to cup his cheek for a moment. Francis might mind, maybe, but Ash would make it up to him.
The third touch, inexplicably, was Harry again. They were dancing in a group, keeping the energy up while they waited for the older men to make their appearance. Harry and Ash weren't even dancing together-together, just sort of near each other, but Harry had moved behind Ash and was stroking his leg. It wasn't exactly a grope. The hand stayed on the side of his thigh, almost impersonal. Ash wasn't weirded out, or at least, he was pretty sure he shouldn't be weirded out. He and Harry touched each other all the time, and it wasn't like that. They were just dancing. Maybe this was some new European dance move.
Not that, if things were different, Ash would mind Harry touching him like that. Harry was hot, obviously. He wasn't Francis, that was all.
The doors to the chalet opened, and the icy guest of honor made his appearance. Ash's eyes found Francis first, and stuttered, because Francis was wearing full black tie, perfectly tailored, absolutely impeccable, as if this were one of his charity galas, or a party from a century ago. He was in full "I could buy and sell you and your family ten times over" mode, that he used to face down boardrooms, and he was putting it on for fun. Ash felt his heart turn over.
He became aware that, next to him, Harry was making a little whimpering noise, and oh yes, Julius was being Julius, very nice, he was wearing a ball gown sewn with crystal beads, but make it manly, and also sort of like someone had tried to assemble Ikea furniture and then worn it to a party. Fashion like that was utterly beyond Ash's comprehension. He noticed that Richard, Dominic, and Absalom were also in black tie, presumably both for comfort and contrast. Ash turned back to Francis.
Francis met his gaze across the icy dance floor and raised one eyebrow. Then he turned, accepted a champagne flute, and began ambling in Ash's direction.
Well. Ash knew what to do with that. He grinned at the nearest person who wasn't already grinding on someone else. They were chubby and cute and their hair was dyed in the non-binary flag colors. "I need to dance with someone to tease my boyfriend," he shouted in their ear. "Want to help?"
"Okay, if I can grab your ass!"
Weird, but okay. They danced, and Ash's partner did indeed grab and knead his ass. It felt good, but even better was the knowledge that Francis was watching and quietly losing his mind. He was high on friendship and music and the bitter cold only made it better. When the song ended, he went to one of the drinks tables and collected a steaming mug of mulled wine. There was a first aid tent with snow patrollers, positioned right by the dance floor so they could keep an eye out for intoxicated frostbite cases--probably the work of Richard's assistant--but because this was a party, they also had a Saint Bernard, complete with the little cider cask on its collar, and so the front of the tent was swarmed with cooing queers. Ash took a turn because there was a fluffy dog, he couldn't not, and someone in the crowd took the opportunity to caress his butt again. He half-expected Francis even though the touch didn't feel nearly controlling enough, but no, some stranger. It wasn't all that bad, but still, what was going on? Some kind of sex pollen?
Francis found him just after that, and this time the hand gripping his hip was unmistakable. Ash grinned as he turned his face up to be kissed. "Are you wearing boxers?" Francis growled in his ear, after the first peck.
Ash shook his head, leaning his cheek on Francis's lapel. God, that suit was killing him.
Francis swore, and his grip tightened. There were going to be bruises. Tight leather was suddenly seeming like not the most comfortable thing Ash could have worn. Maybe next time he could try a kilt. "Come with me," Francis said, in his CEO voice, but the way he guided Ash from the hip was not at all professional.
Ash went along with only one wistful look at the absolutely amazing party he was leaving. "Where are we going?"
"I need to get these off you," Francis said, tugging at the leather.
"Too early in the night to strip on the dance floor," Ash said, nodding. "Plus I don't want to freeze anything important. That's why I wore layers. It's cold."
Francis wasn't looking at him, being somewhat busy making sure they didn't walk into anything, but Ash could see the flicker of some expression on the side of his face. "Brat," he said.
"But where are we going?"
Francis shoved a wad of currency--Ash could see dollars and Euros and something else, his money was usually just a debit card--into the hands of the resort concierge and said something about reserving the roof, then dragged Ash into the elevator.
There was a hot tub on the roof. Resort staff with walkie-talkies were hastily opening the cover and laying out towels and robes. Francis waited, glowering, until they had finished lighting candles and fled down the service stairs. Then he grabbed Ash by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. Ash stared back at him, confused. Francis was maybe sometimes prone to staring at his eyes, and rhapsodizing on the color, and all that, but this looked more like Francis was trying to read something in Ash's face. Aside from horniness, Ash had no idea what was there.
"Completely innocent," Francis said, finally*. He slid his hands down Ash's bare arms, grimacing a little at the glitter. His lovely tailcoat was sparkling now, but that would be a problem for the cleaners. Rather than linking hands romantically, he grasped Ash's wrists and twisted them, moving Ash's palms to lie against his ass cheeks.
Ohhhhhhhhh.
Ash's thermal underwear was quilted, with a sort of a waffle pattern. He could feel it now, through the thin, tight leather. No wonder everyone wanted to touch him. He was enjoying touching himself, rubbing his hands up and down a bit. His ass felt great like this, firm with just the right amount of bounce, the buttery texture of the leather with the geometric lines of the quilting.
Francis grabbed his crotch and bit down hard on one of his nipples, and the only thing keeping Ash from coming was the constriction around his cock. He whined.
Francis knelt, not the fluid drop Ash knew he was capable of, but a deliberate, step-by-step movement, one knee and then the other. He slid his hands up Ash's thighs, his thumbs running up the inseam on the leather, bump-bump-bumping over the ridiculous waffle pattern. Ash wanted to die, but it wasn't doing anything to quell his erection. He was still mindlessly rubbing his own ass. He was pretty sure he could stop if he wanted to, maybe. The texture was mesmerizing. His nose was full of the scents of leather, sweat, and arousal. His nipples had been hard for hours in the cold wind, but he didn't feel cold at all.
Francis flicked open the buttons of Ash's fly and shoved the waistband of the thermal underwear down. He breathed a puff of air across Ash's cock, warm for a moment and then icy as the moisture froze. Ash had been dancing in thermal underwear and leather and he could smell himself, but it didn't seem to bother Francis. The polished CEO, still in formalwear, bent his head and took the club kid to the back of his throat, and Ash always got vertigo if he tried to see them as anyone else would. From inside, it was just the man he loved, expressing love. Ash moaned. "Not gonna last—" he said.
"Good."
Ash realized he was still fondling his own ass when he almost lost his balance. Francis shifted his hands to grip Ash's thighs from behind, giving him more leverage for gamahuching but leaving Ash's hands free to keep rubbing the leather. One hard squeeze, a half-controlled thrust forward, and Ash doubled over, spilling into Francis's waiting mouth.
It was a ridiculous position, him bent over with his hands on Francis's back and Francis's head against his belly, but for just a moment it was perfect. Ash breathed in the scent of himself and the spice of Francis's cologne, thinking, This is perfection.
Then Francis yanked his trousers down. They didn't go easily. The leather had been tight to begin with, and was even tighter over the underwear. Ash staggered and almost fell on his skating bruises, but after a few bad moments involving shoes, Francis managed to hustle him, naked and uninjured, into the hot tub. Ash took his turn with a cock in his mouth with his body floating weightlessly warm behind him, arms resting on the edge of the tub and Francis standing, aloof and dry, on the wooden steps.
*Harry needed the brain cell today.