It’s really not much warmer inside, unfortunately. Acatl only has the one reed mat, and at first Teomitl bundles himself up in his cloak and looks as though he’ll sleep on the floor to keep a polite distance between them. If he does, Acatl’s pretty sure it’ll be the only time he’s ever been polite in his life.

Acatl lays down on his mat for a moment, watching him. They’ve lit another brazier; the flickering firelight casts half Teomitl’s face in shadow, but the rest of his skin glows. Acatl finds he has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Come closer. We’ll be warmer that way.”

“...Alright then,” Teomitl says, and his voice is just as quiet. There’s something important here, something that could be ruined if they aren’t careful.

But then Teomitl is pressed against him, both their cloaks wrapped around their bodies so that Acatl feels all that bare skin like a shock against his own, and he’s not afraid in the least. Teomitl is deliciously warm and solid, his heartbeat steady as a drum, and when Acatl puts an arm around his waist he sighs and nuzzles in so sweetly that Acatl’s breath catches in his throat.

Oh, he thinks. He’s never been this close before. He would have thought—if he’d let himself think about it at all—that holding Teomitl would be like an inferno, but instead the heat of banked embers are soaking into his bones.

He lets out a long, gusty breath, and Teomitl only mumbles in sleepy satisfaction, “Good night, Acatl.”

“...Good night, Teomitl.”

He doesn’t think he’ll get much sleep.