Chapter Text
Vivamus, Moriendum Est
Let us live, since we must die.
- Seneca the Elder
.-.-.
You never asked to be spending your Christmas stranded in the frostbitten tundra of Barton, New England. You also never asked be surrounded by such dire company: your estranged uncle that reeks of old tuna and loneliness, a grieving cook with a crippling addiction to old reruns of the Newlywed Game, and a foul tempered, foul mouthed, bullshitting beanpole of a boy.
But then again, as the Rolling Stones wrote - and as your brother once used to sing under his breath before he’d been dragged away to a distant country that he’d never come back from - 'you can’t always get what you want'.
Unbeknownst to you, the chilly, colourless corridors of the prestigious Barton Academy for Boys might just hold exactly what you need.
.-.-.
"Oh fuck you, Tully."
"I mean if you're offering-"
"The hell I am."
"Ah, you'll cave eventually. I'm irresistible."
"As irresistible as the legions of lice you've got nesting in those tighty whities of yours, or are you wearing a pair of your women's panties tod-"
His grip on your forearms loosens suddenly as his mouth quirks, "I can let go, you know."
The traitorous blades of your skates slip treacherously on the ice, "Don't you dare."