Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  Wind rocked the cabin, making the logs creak and sending hard pellets of snow against the windows. In the city when it snowed, snowy nights were almost as bright as day, the blanket of white reflecting the streetlights. Here there was no light at all, and the cabin was pitch-black save the soft glow of the fire Marcus had banked. Frankie thought of how dark it would have been had he been trapped in his car, and he shivered. His mind added a sidebar of how cold it was likely to be in there now, and Frankie shivered even harder.

  The other side of the foldout bed shifted as Marcus turned over. “You okay?”

  Feeling foolish, Frankie nodded. “Yes, sorry. Just thinking how cold and dark it is in my car and how lucky I am to have found somewhere to stay for the night.”

  To Frankie this was a vulnerable, confessional moment, and he expected Marcus to soften under it, maybe giving him a gruff, “You’re safe now,” or something equally benign but ice thawing. Instead of softening, though, Marcus put his back to Frankie again, and when he spoke, he sounded irritated. “Be a lot longer than one night. This is a hell of a storm.”

  Hurt and confused, Frankie turned away too. “I’ll find a way to get to a hotel tomorrow so I’m not a bother to you.”

  “The closest hotel is in Eveleth. You won’t be getting there anytime soon.”

  Frankie wished he were the kind of asshole who could decide to stay with Marcus as long as possible, annoying him as some kind of payback. He wasn’t. “I’ll find somewhere else in town then.”

  “You’ll stay here. Now shut up and sleep, because I’m pretty sure tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”

  Burrowing deeper into the covers, Frankie shut his eyes tight and swallowed hard, telling himself he wasn’t going to cry and give the big jerk on the other side of the bed the satisfaction of seeing how easily his barbs took hold. He vowed he’d talk with Arthur about his offer of sharing a bed with him and Paul—clearly that overture came with sex, but that didn’t seem like it’d be a hardship anymore, and anyway he’d fuck about anybody to get away from Marcus and his ability to swipe the rug out from under him every time he tried to stand.

  Frankie was half-asleep, consoling himself with a soft-core porn fantasy of being caressed by a pair of gentle lumberjacks, when he was awoken by a loud, hard crack.

  He sat bolt upright, turning to the window where he fully expected to see a tree cracked in two, but then a second sharp sound broke through the air, followed by a low, erotic moan. The sound, Frankie realized, came from upstairs.

  Arthur’s voice drifted down, muffled by wind and floorboards, but there was no mistaking what he said. “That’s right, you hot little fucker. Lift that ass so I can smack it.”

  As a cascade of blows and moans came from the loft, Frankie lowered himself carefully back to the bed and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, all hope of sleep gone as he listened to the muted but graphic soundtrack to an amateur BDSM scene. Arthur rattled off a constant stream of dirty talk, commenting on the allure of Paul’s anus—look at that hot little hole—and the many variations of oral sex he planned to perform on it—want to cram my tongue in there and lick out your insides, you sexy bitch.

  Soon the play-by-play stopped, and Frankie could only presume Arthur was putting his money where his mouth was, or at least giving the kind of rimming to Paul Frankie had only seen through the curtain of his fingers when his roommate had tried to get him to watch hardcore online porn. Paul’s cries were by turns agonized and aroused, sometimes begging Arthur to stop, sometimes pleading with him not to. Occasionally Arthur would growl something at Paul, making him whimper or say something angrily back, but mostly Paul moaned, especially when the telltale banging began, indicating Paul’s hot little hole was seeing a more significant form of activity. Hard, relentless activity that had Paul almost sobbing.

  For his part, Frankie tried not to breathe, let alone move. His cock had come to full attention under the blanket, but he knew now he’d endure Marcus’s crankiness for the rest of his life before he’d make himself a third participant in the kind of sex going on in the loft. His roommate had taught him to respect rough sex, but their one mutual, tentative foray into the activity had made it clear Frankie was a BDSM observer only.

  He’d never thought he’d be so up close and personal with it.

  Especially with total strangers.

  In a cabin in a snowstorm.

  In a cabin in a snowstorm where he would apparently be stuck for days.

  This time Frankie worked hard to control his shaking, truly not wanting to endure Marcus’s disdain on top of his shock, but as the activity upstairs wound to a climax and Frankie’s tremors became pronounced, the bed shifted and Marcus’s dark, bearded face loomed over Frankie’s.

  “You okay?”

  Frankie nodded quickly, willing Marcus to believe him, but Paul cried out as if he’d been gutted, and Frankie’s whole body spasmed in response.

  To his surprise, Marcus’s countenance eased. “It’s all right. I know they play rough, but Paul’s tougher than you think. He tells Arthur no when he doesn’t want it, and Arthur listens.” Marcus grimaced, but for once the displeasure didn’t seem to be aimed at Frankie. “They’re a fucking awful couple, and they each keep trying to find other people, but they’ve been friends forever, and somehow fucking each other has always been a part of their relationship.” His face smoothed out again, and for a moment Marcus became the gentle lumberjack of Frankie’s fantasy. “They wouldn’t have played with you like that if you’d gone to bed with them, not if you didn’t want it, but they would have tried. You didn’t seem like the type for that, which was why I didn’t let them coerce you up there just yet. I figured you had enough on your plate tonight without their Sid and Nancy routine.”

  “Thanks,” Frankie whispered, unable to say anything else.

  With a curt nod, Marcus lay back down. Frankie remained awake for some time, though, well past the finale of the upstairs performance. Lying on the bed, surrounded by the warmth Marcus’s body gave off beneath their shared blanket, Frankie lay awake for a long time, swimming in a sea of overstimulation and confusion.

  Chapter Four

  MARCUS WOKE THE next morning to a deep chill in the house and the sound of wind howling outside. He’d turned his phone off overnight to save battery, and a quick check of the internet told him the already significant storm front over northern Minnesota had swelled, joining with a system coming up from the south. Now the whole thing was stalled over them with no sign of moving anytime soon. After indexing their cupboard and making a trek out to check wood and fuel supplies, he snuck up the stairs to wake Arthur and Paul.

  “Shit,” was all Arthur had to say when Marcus showed him the weather forecast from his phone.

  “We’d best get into town and stock up,” was Paul’s observation. “I’ll call to verify the crew isn’t going out until this is over, but I can’t see how they could even pretend with as bad as this is going to be. I think it’s safe to say we all have at least a half a week off, if not longer.” He nodded to the floorboards. “Maybe we should swing by Frankie’s car, let him get some of his things. I could take the Ski-Doo and the sled behind, get everything we’d need and then some.”

  Marcus nodded, thinking this was a good idea. “We can batten down the hatches here, maybe chop some wood and make up a big batch of chili we can heat up.”

  “Gonna want to finish cleaning the wood stove too. There’s no way we can run the furnace on the generator that many days without running out of gas, and that fireplace only kicks out so much heat. We may have plenty of propane, but the blower still needs juice, and it’ll be on near to constant from the sounds of things.” Arthur shook his head at the weather display. “Jesus, this is a real bitch, this storm.”

  Feeling like a plan was in motion, Marcus headed downstairs to grab some breakfast before getting to work. Frankie was awake and standing by the bathroom door, wrapped in one of the quilts from the bed.

  Hair sticking on end, n
ose red with chill, he stepped up to Marcus. “I want to go with Paul.”

  The very thought of Frankie out on the Ski-Doo annoyed Marcus, but it was nothing to how put out he was when Paul said, “Hey, that’s a good idea.”

  Marcus glowered at his roommates as they came down the stairs. “The hell it is.”

  Frankie clutched his blanket tighter, chin going up a little. “I know what I need out of my car, and anyway, I’d like to see how it is. I wouldn’t mind a chance to pick up a few things in town, either, since I’m going to be staying here for a while.”

  “He might as well.” Arthur rubbed at the back of his wild hair and leaned against the railing. “He could stand to pick up some real winter gear because we might want another pair of hands if things get nasty.” When Marcus glared at him, Arthur rolled his eyes and clapped Frankie on the shoulder. “Ignore Oscar the Grouch. I’ll get you tricked out in some makeshift overalls, but you guys head into town first thing. Got that, Paul?”

  “Sure thing,” Paul agreed, and just like that, it was settled.

  Marcus headed to the kitchen, grumbling and slamming pans as he made oatmeal and fried up some bacon. The others chatted at the table, and though he kept his gaze fixed on his cooking, he blatantly eavesdropped on their conversation at the same time.

  They were talking about what sort of gear Frankie should pick up in town and where to get it, and Frankie was trying to explain to them that his coat was more than warm enough for whatever the weather could dish out, pulling open the lining to show the high-tech reflective fabric inside. His fluid, graceful movements snared the edges of Marcus’s focus, and Marcus paused with his spatula over the bacon to appreciate the way the weak light made Frankie’s blond hair glow against the window with the snowstorm raging behind him. If Frankie was still weirded out by Paul and Arthur’s sexual antics the night before, he hid it well.

  Marcus went back to cooking.

  They all wolfed down their breakfast, and as Marcus cleaned up, Paul and Arthur made sure Frankie was warm enough, approving of his balaclava, thick gloves, and boots but insisting he wear a few pairs of sweatpants over his jeans. Marcus helped set up the Ski-Doo and sled, fishing out his own helmet for Frankie and double-checking the skids before standing beside Arthur and watching them disappear into the snow.

  “Paul damn well better not get lost,” Marcus muttered as they turned onto the road toward town.

  “Paul won’t get lost.” Arthur patted Marcus on the back. “Come on, fusspot. Let’s get this shit done.”

  They started with the house, setting tarps and plastic sheeting against the windows and anywhere that looked leaky. From there they moved onto the woodpile, splitting wood and stacking it high on the porch and inside by the fire. Marcus put coffee on and threw together a big pot of chili for the crock before helping Arthur with the stove.

  “Make sure that vent is clear,” Marcus said as he set Arthur’s mug down and squinted into the piping. “I don’t feel like dying of carbon monoxide poisoning just yet.”

  “I had Paul pick up a new detector and batteries.” He pulled out the back of the stove and squatted down to shine a flashlight inside. “Looks clean in here, but give me that brush to be safe.”

  They worked hard for an hour, not quite giving it the job a professional would have and certainly making a greater mess, but they’d be able to use the stove through the storm and would stay a hell of a lot warmer, especially on the first floor. Marcus started a few sandwiches while Arthur showered, Arthur finishing them up and bringing them to the table while Marcus washed off and got dressed.

  “I think we’re as ready as we can be,” Arthur declared as Marcus settled in beside him. He nudged Marcus’s plate toward him with a wink. “Got a nice distraction too, don’t we, with our city slicker?” When Marcus frowned at him, Arthur laughed and slapped his leg. “Jesus, you’re such a sourpuss. You really do like him, don’t you? Got you all grumpy and flustered.”

  “I’m not flustered.” Marcus took a large bite of his sandwich.

  “You’re trying so hard not to look at him, it’s fucking hilarious.” Arthur sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “There’s nothing wrong with having a flirt, Marky. He likes you too, you know.”

  For half a second, Marcus let himself enjoy the junior high flush of pleasure at hearing that before he flipped Arthur off. “I’m not flirting with him.” He should have left it at that, but he couldn’t help adding, “He’s way too damn much like Steve.”

  This made Arthur laugh again. “Are you shitting me? Frankie’s about as far from that snake as a body can get. Maybe they look a little alike, except Steve had dark hair, but Frankie’s a sweet boy where Steve was just flat out a manipulative asshole.” He nudged Marcus in the shoulder. “That what’s got you all in a knot? Honey, he ain’t a damn thing like your ex. I think you should fuck him.”

  “I’m not going to fuck him,” Marcus snapped.

  “Why the hell not? The two of you are a perfect fit. He’s even all full of smarts, just like you, but he’s not a snob. He wouldn’t mind if you really were just a lumberjack, not a hoity-toity lawyer slumming as one.”

  Marcus wiped his mouth with a napkin and reached for his coffee. “I’m not slumming. I like working in timber. It’s very satisfying.”

  “You’re slumming so hard a ghetto is forming around you. But it’s okay. Like I said, he’d like you no matter what.”

  Jesus, what was with Arthur? “He lives in goddamn Minneapolis, and I’m not heading back there.”

  Arthur looked at him like he’d grown a spare head. “I didn’t say marry him, dumbass, I said fuck him.”

  Of course he hadn’t, and now Marcus felt like an idiot. “I don’t want to fuck him. Or marry him, or anything.”

  Arthur smiled, no longer amused, only sad. “Aw, hon. You always were a big softy under all that gruff.”

  “Shut up,” Marcus grumbled.

  “Shutting up,” Arthur agreed mildly, standing up and stretching with a grunt. “All right, lover boy. Let’s fire up this stove and take the furnace offline until the boys get home.”

  FRANKIE HADN’T RIDDEN on a snowmobile before, and it quickly became clear this was a horrible oversight. Even in the middle of a blizzard, it was thrilling to ride behind Paul, whizzing through the snow, gliding over the top of terrain that would stop any other motor vehicle cold. Paul seemed to enjoy it too, knowing just when and how to push the vehicle and when to lay off.

  “Gonna stick to the roads because visibility is so bad,” he called back to Frankie as they slowed at a stop sign. “Normally I’d cut through the woods, but I don’t feel like getting us lost.”

  Frankie nodded his approval of this plan and held on tight.

  Their first stop when they arrived in town was at the Fleet Farm, where Frankie picked out warmer socks and a pair of long underwear in addition to a pair of snow pants that fit. Even though they intended to stop at his car, most of what he had wasn’t designed for braving the cold in a blizzard. Paul meanwhile picked up batteries, flashlights, portable lanterns, and a carbon monoxide detector. He also picked up a large bag of mixed nuts and one of just cashews. “Marcus and I always fight over those,” Paul explained.

  After Fleet Farm they hit the grocery store, which was small and slightly grim and emptying out fast. Frankie panicked, wanting to grab everything he saw, but Paul shopped more casually, selecting tins of tuna and cans of beans, a big canister of oatmeal, and some eggs. “We have a freezer full of beef, and we’ve got vegetables from our neighbor’s garden out in the root cellar. So some milk and eggs would be a nice treat, but really, we’ve got most of what we need already. If you see anything you want, though, toss it in the cart.”

  Frankie did see things he wanted: he added several cans of chicken to their pile in addition to the last package of fresh boneless, skinless breasts, three different kinds of tea, and a package of licorice. He found a toothbrush too, in case they couldn’t get into his car for some
reason. Paul watched it all go into the cart, but he frowned at the chicken.

  “I’m serious, we have a shit-ton of meat,” he said again.

  “Yes, well…you said it was beef. I don’t eat red meat.” Feeling lousy and awkward, he added quickly, “It makes my stomach upset. Always has. Not to put a fine point on it, but you don’t want to live with me if I have to eat beef.”

  Paul chuckled. “Fair enough then.”

  “I’ll pay for my share,” Frankie assured him. He fished out several twenties from his wallet, wondering if he could stop by an ATM somewhere to get more.

  Paul waved the money off carelessly, not taking it.

  They took their time in the store, Paul stopping to chat with people in every aisle, always taking time to introduce Frankie and explain his plight. Everyone was friendly and sympathetic, welcoming Frankie and assuring him he was in good hands to weather the storm, though they had some reserve, like they weren’t getting too comfy until they knew Frankie wasn’t an axe murderer. They also, he noticed, tended to cast knowing looks between Paul and Frankie in a way that made it clear they knew both men were gay and assumed they were getting it on. That part was a little weird.

  “Oh, that’s just how they are,” Paul said when Frankie brought it up as they loaded up the sled. “I think they figure all gay guys do is fuck. It’s all that damn Fox News and 700 Club they watch. I can only imagine what they think Marcus and Arthur and I do together in the cabin.”

  “So you’re all out, all three of you? And such a small town is okay with it?”

  Paul shrugged. “Yeah, we’re out, and I guess most people have made peace with it one way or another. Some get snippy about it, but they’re the same ones who cluck their tongues about a boyfriend and girlfriend living together or girls getting pregnant in high school, like we’re all still in the 1800s or something. I don’t pay it any mind.”