Snow Bunnies 1

They tore down the slope like they owned it. Then they found him—sprawled, broken, bleeding in the snow. Phones out. Knees in the powder. One pressed a glove to the gash on his thigh while the other spoke low, voice steady even as the cold chewed her lips blue. They didn’t leave till the medics did. Later they dragged him back to the cabin, peeled the wet layers off his skin, rubbed heat into muscle and joint. By the fire they stripped the rest. Hands explored skin gone numb, mouths warming where fingers lingered too long. The room smelled of sweat, wet wool, and something sharper. No words now—just the scrape of teeth, the soft moan of a body waking up to pain and want. One woman took him first, slow and deep, the other watching, knuckles whitening around the hem of her shirt, hips shifting forward without her willing it. She waited her turn, breath short, nipples hard under damp cotton. The fire cracked. The storm rattled the windows. Nobody said stop.