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The snow was far shallower this deep in the woods, but the bitter chill and falling ash had turned the crunchy footing into a sheet of ice. Amos and Clarissa made slower progress than they had hoped. But after a tense interaction at a “resource center,” they decided it best to avoid the main thoroughfares.
Two days since the shifty-eyed “relief staff” had tried to surreptitiously scan their ID chips - likely using their Red Cross ruse as a way to capture warrant bounties. Amos made it out with a fierce black eye and a split knuckle. Neither of them brought it up. They had yet to see a living soul since then, but he was anxious and on edge, even though he knew the sham operation was far behind him and they had no reason or means to follow them. His stomach seized, grasping for food that wasn’t there, and made a sound like a creaking ship.
“It’s probably time for food.”
“What food?” Clarissa replied with a scowl, “Unless you are holding out on me and are secretly an amazing hunter and can kill us a rabbit.”
“Nah, the only things we killed in Baltimore were rats, cockroaches and each other.” His joking tone only somewhat hid the casual and brutal truth of his statement. “I swiped these foodstuffs at the last check point - but I don’t really recognize them at all.” He turned the grey package in his hands and read from the label, “Human Grade Nutrition - so we know its going to taste really good - WARNING: Package Must Be Hydrated Prior To Consumption To Prevent Toxic Electrolyte Imbalance From Dehydration. - Ok well shit, I guess we need some water then.”
Clarissa scanned the landscape - it was identical to the last 10 miles they had trekked and just as devoid of water. When they dared to risk passing closer to humanity the snow was fresher, but this far into the wilderness the ice was so dense, and dirty, it was impossible to chip it away.
“C’mon Peaches, let's see if we can’t find something worth melting.” Amos held the ration in his hand, crinkling the contents to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, his stomach clenching, mouth dry, and a headache so persistent he couldn’t remember what life was like without one. They crested a giant hill in silence; birds no longer sang, and there was no underbrush to crunch through, just the whistling of eerie wind. Then, the smallest trickling sound.
“Amos, I am glad you are comfortable with me but do you really have to piss right here?”
“I have nothing to piss and haven’t for half a day. I think we are hearing the sweet sound of liquid water.”
They scanned the bottom of the hill, and sure enough, a thin ribbon of flowing water traced a line through the gully. The river had once been much bigger - probably a tributary of the Patapsco, but aside from the six inches of exposed water where the current was strongest, the rest had been frozen over.
“Seems good a place as any to build camp - whadya say, Peaches?”
“I mean, we still have a few hours of sunlight left, but I am starving and thirsty and the wind isn’t so bad here - think we could risk a fire?”
They busied themselves making camp in the sad excuse for a valley. Thankfully here the trees were a bit closer together and some even had needles left on them. Amos dragged broken branches to a trio of trees and set them up in a way that would prevent their fire from being seen from two directions while still giving him enough visibility to see intruders. He took brittle twigs and sprinkled them in a wide circle around their camp - at least if someone did come he would hear their crunching. And if someone had a gun and wanted to shoot them? Well, it's not like that was defensible.
Clarissa was gathering wood and Amos unpacked their supplies: the four rations, the three jackets they shared between the two of them, the flimsy space blanket that Amos had carried since the Ganymede, a dented tin water bottle, some various detritus from his trip down from Luna, and his pride and joy - a rug, little more than a welcome mat, that he had lifted from someone’s abandoned home days past.
He laid the rug inside the triangle of protected space he had created and sat down, pleased to feel a reprieve from the bitter wind and insulation from the icy ground. Clarissa was furiously rubbing two sticks together and a thin curl of smoke was threatening to catch the soft bed of needles she had laid out. In no short time, there was a crackling fire hiding the entrance to their shelter. Amos almost felt relaxed enough to let his guard down.
“Time to scavenge some water - do you still have the water bottle?”
They stepped gingerly over to the river, grabbing onto each other shamelessly to remain upright on the glass smooth surface. Clarissa was doing a gallant job of hiding her weakness, but Amos knew. He knew that the hormones and chemicals leaching out of her body meant she would have a hard time navigating the ice.
Amos gestured for bottle and placed one foot on the ice covering the river, and another. On the third, a snap like a gunshot reverberated through the valley and he saw a deep white crack splinter out in front of him. He was still at least 10 feet from the small exposed ribbon of water.
“Ok, that was a valiant try but you, sir, are built like a refrigerator - I think I can get closer.” Amos battled between his desire to be chivalrous and the harsh reality of the situation. He had 100lbs on Clarissa, and they needed water, quickly. Clarissa stepped onto the ice, steering clear of the cracked vein. Slowly, slowly, keeping low, testing each section with her weight before inching forward. Then, not even a foot from their saving grace she crashed through the ice into the river below.
The river was not as deep as she had feared - her feet found solid ground, but the shock of barely liquid water up to her armpits took her breath away. She struggled to breathe, struggled to register Amos’ shouts; the only thing she knew was the icy cold that paralyzed her body and mind in an instant.
The fantastic chill refused to lose its grip on her, but she dimly recognized that she had to get out of the water and fast. But each attempt she made to climb out only expanded the hole around her, making it easier for the river to buffet her around. She continued to crash forward, hardly feeling the cuts from shards of ice as she neared the bank. Her vision swam and she lost perception of her own body, her muscles reacted to the direness of her situation without her even controlling them. In the back of her mind, she knew she would die and was relieved, to be finally severed from a body that had betrayed her and had been betrayed by her. It would be no bad thing. Cruel, stinging wind bit her skin as she emerged, first standing, then folded over Amos’ shoulder, only the sound of her ragged breathing and the pounding of boots to keep her tethered to consciousness.
Clarissa sat, dazed and unable to move while Amos frantically checked for injuries - his voice just a deep rumbling sound far far away from her. Her only sensation of having a body was the curious discomfort that her eyes were three feet off the ground, perched on nothing she could feel, swaying back and forth. Rough hands grasped and gently squeezed someone else’s body. Answers to meaningless questions spoken by someone else’s voice.
The fire was now big enough to cast a weak circle of light, and an even smaller radius of heat. Amos half dragged her closer, but outside of their makeshift shelter, the bitter wind made her clothes crunch with ice crystals. The fire wouldn’t be large enough to reach the entrance for an hour yet.
Amos felt a surge of panic, stuck between two impossible situations, scrambling for a solution, anything. Seeing Clarissa, staring with dead eyes, too cold to even shiver, he was struck by a memory of a Baltimore winter, when he was only 8 years old. That was the year the landlord had turned off their heat, and some crackhead kicked in their door earlier in the fall, looking for money or drugs or copper to strip. There was no way to fix it, so most days it hung off of one bent hinge, never fully able to close. That winter was a brutal one, even within the insulation of their garden-level apartment. During those dark winter days, Amos almost looked forward to being called upstairs, to those dark and musty rooms, filled with greedy, rough hands. At least it was warm. But when he was thrown out, after he was spent and no longer an interest to the customers, then he and his mother had to make heat however possible. The electricity was rarely on, the gas less so. On day 5 of the polar vortex, the candles were used up. That night, his mother had drawn him into their one closet with every blanket they owned. “Don’t feel scared, baby, this is the way it's gotta be.” She shed almost all of her clothes and eased him out of his and they lay, skin to skin, animal to animal, shivering until their little pocket filled with heat. Looking back at it now, Amos wondered if he should have felt more ashamed, but in that moment lying next to his naked mother he felt comfort and safety. And warmth.
“Peaches! Clarissa! Look at me” Amos shook her roughly and she slowly focused her eyes, “You gotta get your clothes off.” Amos was kicking off his shoes, bare chest already exposed. He shook out the thin space blanket and tucked two of the ends under their rug.
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do, but you’ll fucking die if you let those clothes freeze on your body. Get. Here. Now.” His commanding tone forced her to sit up and comply but her numb fingers were too stiff to unzip and unbutton her shirt. The shivers began to hit her and her whole body was quaking. Now that her mind was working again she saw the urgency and desperation of her situation. She looked at Amos pleadingly. “H-h-h-elp me.”
Amos, skin red from the chill, began to undress her, gently, layer by layer until they were both in their underwear. “Ok, that's close enough I think,” Amos allowed himself to feel a little awkward. In that freezing cold closet with his mother things weren’t so… complicated as they were with Clarissa. What did they have... sibling love? Protection? An object to project sexual frustration onto? Well, there was no time for complications or feelings or projections at a time like this. Clarissa laid down, back to the elements, and tucked into the space blanket at her body and her feet. Amos eased under the free edge of the blanket and pressed her into a hug, too close to even look each other in the eye.
The only sounds for a long time were their ragged breathing and the crinkling of the space blanket as Clarissa was raked by full-body shivers. Her fingers were as useful as icicles and she kept them stiff at her sides, afraid to touch her own skin.
In a gust of wind the edge of the blanket fluttered free, letting in a nasty nasty cold that set her shivering all over again, Amos tried to tuck it in, trying to keep as much heat as he could between them. “Wait, hold there’s something poking-“ Amos ran his hand down his front to dust away something between them and stopped short. “Ah, sorry, I didn't realize those were your, uh, sorry.”
Clarissa choked back a gasp, as Amos had unknowingly run his hand over her breasts and nipples, hard from the cold. The swift movement caused a tinge of pain, but not in an entirely bad way. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and in her stomach.
“S-s-sorry, it's just they get so hard when I am c-cold, and I feel like a b-block of ice.”
“So that's where the phrase 'cutting glass' comes from then, huh?” Amos tried to lighten the mood but his humor faded as he realized how hard she was shaking. “Does it hurt when they are like that? I can warm them with my hands, if you turn around. Plus, then your legs will still be warm and you can put your head on my arm.”
“Oh god anything to make mer warmer”
She flipped clumsily fighting to conserve heat and stay encircled in his broad arms. His warm hands shifted from her back to her belly, rough skin against soft. For a beat they settled into their new configuration and then Clarissa's shaking started up again. He gently slid his hands from her belly and lifted the bottom of her thin shirt. Her breath hitched as his callused hands brushed against a place she hadn’t been touched in years, not even by herself. Amos mistook her shiver as hesitation.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” She nodded through chattering teeth and realized he couldn’t see her face, so she grabbed his wrist and guided it the rest of the way.
Without thinking he shifted his hands up even more as her flesh began to warm up. The resistance of his skin against hers sent another shiver down between her legs. Waves of goosebumps rushed over her, pulling her skin with painful pinpricks. The fire, although crackling fiercely did little to warm her more than skin deep. It was all she could do to not throw herself on the coals. Minutes passed as the fire slowly eating its damp dinner and sending out life-saving heat.
Clarissa didn’t even notice Amos’ erection until he instinctively pulled back from her.
“No! Please, Amos, don’t move - I know it's not a sex thing, it's a guy thing. Whatever, I don't mind it really. Just. P-please.” Clarissa’s words were choked by her shivers.
“At least let me uh, get it out of the way.” Amos was breathing in tight short bursts, holding his breath and letting it blow out, as he tucked his cock into the waistband of his pants. Only then did he oblige her request and scoot his hips forward again, pressing against her from foot to shoulder. They lay in silence for a long moment, Clarissa occasionally being overcome with violent shivers and then laying still. The metabolic earthquakes became fewer and fewer but no less painful.
Clarissa realized his erection was growing more and more stiff, caged as it was and felt unable to ignore it. It occurred to her that she liked it. To feel something normal, to feel the base hunger of another animal. She let herself settle into the idea, their breaths subconsciously syncing, growing quicker. When was the last time she had had true human connection? Years, probably.
“If I am being honest, it feels… kinda nice to be this close to someone.” Amos hands reflexively jerked at her words, squeezing her breasts, eliciting the smallest moan from Clarissa, that she tried to cover with a cough.
“So what you are saying is that this isn’t not a sex thing for you? Maybe there's another way to help you warm up?” Amos’ whisper tickled her neck with a wave of heat.
“Yes. There is…” She trailed off awkwardly - would he even want this? Would this be a pity fuck because she was sorta dying? The idea of sex - as she knew it - horrified her. So much exposed skin, so much nudity, so much violence. “But if I take off one more layer of clothing I’ll scream.” There, you have an out.
“I can think of some things that don’t involve birthday suits but might get the, uh, core temperature up. Maybe I can kiss your neck? I see some goosebumps there.” The heat of his mouth, the soft pull of his lips and teeth created a war in her body - between shivers of unexpected delight and shivers of her frozen blood. Amos’ warm hands were splayed - one across her breast, the other on her stomach. His pinky rested gently almost reverently at the elastic of her panties. The moments passed with only their breathing to mark the time. He feigned readjustment and tucked his pinky barely under the hem. He nibbled her ear and whispered, “Would some friction help warm you up?”
Clarissa nodded vigorously and he stopped the pretense and slipped his hand further until he felt a soft curl of hair.
“I see they don’t let you have razors in the Pit.”
“Of course they don’t … but I never minded m-much. This is how I normally keep it, why mess with evolutionary design.” She squirmed a little. “I imagine it's not something you are used to seeing on your st-station girls —“ she trailed off, leaving the question she really wanted to ask unspoken. Is that ok? Do you think I am disgusting? She waited in bated breath, waited for him to take advantage of her second out. Instead, Amos kissed the sensitive spot where her neck and ear met and made a deep guttural sound.
“Just because it's out of fashion doesn’t mean I don’t prefer it. You will do me the honor?”
He slipped his hand further through the soft, curly hairs. And held it there for a minute without moving, feeling her heartbeat quicken through the vein in her thigh, the flesh searing hot compared to the rest of her.
“Amos, if I weren’t the wiser I would think you are teasing me.”
“Warmth first, sex second,” he said in the mocking tone of a teacher to student. He planted hot, open-mouth kisses down her neck and all over her shoulder. Clarissa jerked with each one until she finally let out a soft moan.
“Fuck. Please just do it.”
“Far be it from me to make a lady to beg,” he said and moved his hand, broad and rough until his fingers met a parting of flesh, soft and warm and wet.
“Fuck Amos, you are too slow, just DO it!” Clarissa whined, a touch of anger mixed with her desperation - and she bucked her hips forward into his hand. Amos swirled his middle finger, using Clarissa’s natural wetness to lubricate his fingers. He eased his finger through the soft cushion of hair, deep inside her.
Amos let his right hand remain still for a minute as his left hand wandered across her chest, stomach, and breasts. He gave slow, intentional attention to each area, brushing the sensitive underside with his calloused knuckles, appreciating the smooth skin, the pleasing asymmetry. He brushed a fingertip across each nipple, surprising Clarissa with his gentleness. He then grabbed her tightly, kneading, pulling, circling all the while leaving ghosts of kissing on her neck and shoulders.
He realized with satisfaction that both his hand and her body had reached a temperature equilibrium, and he gently dragged his fingers out, savoring the seeming vacuum as she squeezed in his absence. He pushed them back in, added a second finger, and felt his erection pulse painfully as he imagined what it must feel like to be inside her, thrusting with deep purposeful strokes. He tried to bring that same energy into his hands and fought between indulging in his imagination and appreciating the present moment. Her breathing turned to incoherent whispers and moans.
The flat of his hand lay firmly on her clit but he gave way as she snaked a hand between her body and his palm.
“Do you want me to do something different?” he asked in a whisper.
“No, just keep that pressure and for the love of god do not stop moving your fingers.” She arched her back as she said it, temporarily pulling away from him. He moved his hand from her breast and wrapped it around her stomach.
“You can’t get away from me that easily.” He continued pumping his fingers and realized with a twinge of jealousy that her own fingers were fluttering under his palm, in double time. He adjusted his shoulder until he could look over her shoulder to view the orchestra they were conducting together. His cock ached but he dared not move anything extraneous, recognizing that Clarissa’s pleasure would more than likely push him over the edge. In a true feat of discipline, he didn’t rock his cock against her. He knew at that moment that nothing would make him cum harder than making Clarissa cum first.
Amos felt his balls tightening and the tension pull through his abs and lower stomach and as Clarissa reached back and grabbed the neck of his shirt in a fit of passion he could no longer control himself and he came over the waistband of his pants, spending on himself and the ground between them in slow, hot bursts. In the throes of his own pleasure, he recognized with supreme satisfaction that Clarissa was clenching and shaking around his fingers, under his arms. He sighed and let the rest of his body release, too.
Clarissa was utterly spent - hot, cold, wet, stiff, smooth, achey - she couldn’t decide what she was feeling in her body. But she knew that she already missed Amos’ tight grip. As she was hurdling towards the first orgasm she’d been truly given in years, he grasped her tighter and tighter - now all that remained were the white ghosts of his hands on her skin. Amos noticed it, too.
“Shit. Oh, shit. Did I hurt you just now?”
“Not even a little, it was like you were keeping me from floating away. I’ve also never made someone cum with no hands so I guess I get to add it to my sex list.”
"Like a to do list? Really? Seems a bit cliche…”
“Nothing too freaky. Just normal stuff everyone does - sex in public, sex with a stranger, choking, knives. Balloons. Pretty vanilla all things considered.” She snorted with laughter.
“As long as there isn’t a spot for “regrettable sex”,” he trailed off, not certain he had the words to ask her outright. Was this a bad idea? Are things going to be weird now? Amos knew he loved her, loved her as much as Naomi, but knew that he could never give her what most women wanted. Clarissa flipped over to face him, staring deeply into his eyes.
“I don’t regret this, not even a little bit. I needed this, it felt like being set free. Not to mention the whole “you saved me from almost dying from hypothermia thing”"
“Set free?”
“I’ve tortured my body for so many years - the implants, the deprivation, the work, the obsession. All my body is to me is a means to an end, something I have to mold and force to get my goals. Something to be resented, looked after. And no, before you think it, your magic hands did not fuck the dissociation out of me. But its nice to feel something that isn’t hatred versus nothing. I am glad you were the one here with me.”
Amos struggled to find words to reciprocate the sentiment. How to share that this moment of connection was the first in however many years that felt beautiful and meaningful and purposeful? Instead,
“Lets get a good sleep and then get us both home. I know for a fact there is an unclaimed bunk for you on the Roci. If you want it, that is.”
“You really think The Rocinante could be my home?”
“Without a doubt, let me deal with Holden. In the meantime, let me be your home ok?”