It can’t be more than a quarter past sunset and the night sky is already black as midnight. Blacker than the burnt wood that crackles behind me, past the threshold to the cabin, in the fireplace at the center of the living room.

I sharply inhale and suck the frigid air into my lungs. An almost crystallization-like feeling slides down my throat as the large white snowflakes fall silently into view. The monochromatic night, in its wintry serenity. A soliloquy of solitude, my exhale the only sound and sight foreign amid the black and white. The flakes fall around and through my ghostly carbon dioxide. I shiver as I slip back inside as the teapot whistles and stirs me from my reverie.

Quickly, I slip my bare feet from the heavy boots, carefully shut the front door tight, and rush to the kitchen. The pot is pulled from the heat and I pour the boiling water into a pair of mugs and drop a tea bag each into the cups. In short order, the aroma wafts and teases at my nose; a sort of cardamom, chamomile, warm hug that I can’t help but embrace wholeheartedly as it soothes the cold away from my brow.

I grab hold of the mugs and make my way back into the living room, where I find you nestled into the blanket. The massive blanket engulfing all of you save your head. My eyes search for an entry when a hand slips out from the pile of warmth. I fill your open hand with the mug and somehow your other hand finds its way out as you cup both hands around the mug for even more warmth.

“It’s really starting to snow out there.” I offer up as I place my cup down on the end table. The fire crackles, always asking for more. I understand it’s unquenchable thirst as I’m eager to find my way under that blanket. I delay, for you, for myself, for the flame.

The cold still clings to my bare exposed body even as I approach the fire. Taking a pair of split logs I poke and prod with the log in my left hand, creating burning beds of coal and temporary lifts with the wood still withstanding the inevitability. I try to find the metaphor in the flames. You’re somehow all of it. The flame, the oxygen, and the heat. But you’re also just as easily the water capable of extinguishing all of me.

I carefully lay first one, then the other log onto the fire. Watch as the fire quickly takes to their exposed rings. Years of growth so easily consumed. The heat pours out and washes over me. I feel my cheeks flush and it’s just as much my realization as it is the warmth before me.

I am the wood. Hard and defiant. Rooted and sinewy. The flames dance up around, over, into. As the heat begins to penetrate me, I turn back to look at you, taking your first sips, the flame dancing in your eyes as you stare back at me. I stand and feel my arousal building. Your tongue slips just past your lips, I can taste the tea, feel the delicate grit of your tongue. God, just that sends my ears backward as I feel a far more powerful chill dance within my body.

The blanket shifts and moves, your body within the layers of thick fuzzy coziness is the needle within the haystack I will go eagerly diving in for. Happy to be pierced over and over in my search.

“Fuck the tea.” I breathlessly whisper as I slide down at the foot of the couch, my face inches from the edge of the blanket.

“Mmm, no.” You whisper back as two peaks appear amid the fuzzy mountain range. Your legs spreading to form a blanketed valley between your covered knees. “Be a good boy and fuck me.”

Your head slips from view as you seem to burrow deeper into the blanket. I’m careful not to disturb the warmth created inside, your sex is heavy on the air within as I slide hungrily into the dark of our little blanket fort.

I find your right leg and quickly pepper it with soft, lingering kisses as I work my way in the dark, following your curves up until I am nuzzled in close to the permeating core source of this blazing desire. I don’t need to see to know the object of my passion. My tongue splays out thickly over my lower lip and I cradle your clit as my upper lip and nose cuddle in close to your mound. My tongue extends down a moment and savors the heady and intoxicating delight of your sex.

Somewhere in the distance a snowy owl hoots. The sound travels along the gently falling snow, through the bare trees, under the black night sky. It barely makes it through the smoke billowing from the chimney. The snaps and crackles from the logs now engulfed in flame provide a chaotic cadence as I hear somewhere within this massive blanket the soft moans and mews of you, my goddess.

Never will I be more content than right here, amid my worship.

——

Hygge: a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being