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For an hour before the closing, the ice rink is deserted bar you two, lacing your skates in silence and hurry. The Christmas atmosphere you were hoping for is nowhere to be found but that's the best you could get with the limits of your busy lives. It's a miracle you found a moment to share in between missions, yet—an open rink in a smaller city like this one. Especially now, with days desperately short and weather far from encouraging, everything drops into deep sleep hours before you are allowed to finish your cursed shifts.
Atsuya steps into the ice first, too confident for someone who's claimed he had skates on only once, as a child. He's slow and wary but his knees don't wobble when he feels the unknown ground and takes a turn to face you. It's not a pretty style of a skilled skater but he's standing firm, firmer than you and your clumsy duck trot as you try to join. It's been a long while for you as well, but you had your hearty dose of experience back then, apparently too far in time for your muscles to run on autopilot.
He's right there for you, behind you, one hand close to your hip, the other reaching for yours. There's still warmth of his coffee lingering on his skin and you gladly nuzzle up to it, half expecting to be scolded, for the umpteenth time this evening, for forgetting your gloves. But Atsuya remains silent, respecting the eerie atmosphere of an empty ice rink, as if you two entered a sacred ritual that could be disrupted by imprudent words.
You adapt to it, relishing in the white noise of your skates scratching the ice and distant, dull humming of the last cars crossing the empty streets. Rink's supervisor didn't bother to turn the music on for you two only, and you're thankful for that, suddenly not in the mood for cheesy Christmas music anymore. It's way more intimate like this, engulfed by warm lights and flecks of ice around your feet, as if closed in a domain built to protect rather than defend or attack.
You're almost snuggled into each other, your back flush to his chest, your fingers intertwined, your legs moving in unison. Atsuya's presence gives you confidence and balance, you're teaching him the right moves and rhythm—and together, however slow and clumsy, you glide around.
If only it would start snowing... But it's too warm for that, it's not even winter yet, just the beginning of December, just the end of the relatively calmer time right before the Christmas and New Year rush will pump a new wave of curses to deal with. Tomorrow and the day after will be even more busy than today was, and who knows when you'll be able to steal some time for each other again.
Mere thought of it clenches your heart. You squeeze Atsuya's hand tighter, he leans closer to your neck, his warm, coffee-soaked breath brushes your skin right before his lips—a kiss pressed to the side of your jaw.
"You're cold," he finally breaks the seal of silence, his voice more playful than grumpy.
"You forgot your chapstick," you cut in before he can pick on your poor gloves again. You can hear the roll of his eyes from the way he's sighed before attacking your jaw and neck with peckish kisses.
The hold protecting you from a possible fall is now your prison. You squirm and giggle and try to slide out, just to be pulled back into his embrace for another dose of ticklish tortures.
"Why won't you share yours, then?" His dry, chapped lips are trying to chase yours. "I shared my hand warmers."
He's kissing your neck, ears and cheeks, but you wiggle out at the last moment before he can claim his goal—well aware you're able to because he lets you. Your careless laughter soaks through the sacred silence, must be the sin that's earned you a fast punishment. Because once Atsuya is done with the game of cat and mouse and tries to spin you in place, to reach your lips with one smooth frontal attack, his knees finally do wobble, and the balance suddenly sways his way.
Even if you had enough strength to hold a muscular man in place, it happens too fast, faster than your instincts. Atsuya slips back and pulls you with him, face first into his chest, and you both groan when his butt slams against the ice.
"I think I heard something breaking ," he lies flat, arms dramatically thrown by his sides and face wincing, as if he just got thrashed around by a curse.
You've been around enough to know he's lying but you still lean close, pulled by the most obvious bait ever, straight into the trap of his lips. He's smirking through it, proud of himself, one hand cradling the back of your head, holding you in place with ease. You struggle just for a moment, for the sake of the game, but you're as hungry for this as him, for his big tongue and dry skin of his lips, and the aftertaste of coffee he grabbed on the way.
If not for the ice-cold hard surface beneath, you would prolong this until your mouths would grow numb.
Atsuya is still smirking when you pull away, then grinning when you struggle to stand on wobbly legs—but it fades when you offer him a hand and he tries to sit up, making only a few inches upwards before wincing.
"... Fuck . I really've pulled somethin'." He falls back on the ice, with whine too pathetic to be feigned. "Right in my ass, too."
It takes you three tries before you manage to scrape him off the bottom, less because of his weight and groaning and more of your laughter, pushing you to tears and hiccups.
"Alright, old man." You're shaking under his arm as you're slowly sliding towards the exit. "Let's buy you a hot compress for tonight."