Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  Frankie had settled into Marcus during the litany as if it were a bedtime story. “Logan is so much smaller than Saint Peter, but I think the differences are even more pronounced because of our respective locations. We’re spoiled because we’re so close to Mankato and really, we’re not that far from the Cities.”

  “There’s not much up here,” Arthur agreed. “That’s why I like it. I want my space, my privacy, my freedom.”

  “I could use a little more excitement,” Paul argued.

  Arthur poked Paul with his foot. “You say the word, and I’ll give it to you.”

  Frankie lifted his head to look at Marcus. “What about you? Are you happy here?”

  Marcus hesitated, not sure if this question had heavier meaning than it seemed. “I’m happier than I was in the Cities,” he said at last. “I’m still finding my feet again, but I like being part of the community, though it’s getting smaller every day. I like being with people who know me, who have always known me.”

  “A couple people have asked him to take up law in town,” Arthur said. Marcus glared at him, but Arthur didn’t take the hint. “I think he should, even if just on the side. We shouldn’t have to go into Duluth for everything, especially things like that.”

  “I’m not practicing again.” Marcus sighed. “Though sometimes, honestly, I wonder if that objection is reflexive. Let’s say I’m not ready to practice again just yet.”

  “Do you like logging?” Frankie asked.

  Marcus shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s good to use my body. I’ve lost weight since I came back home, and my head feels clearer. Not half as much stress in logging.” He brushed his hand over Frankie’s. “What about you? Do you like your salon where you work?”

  Frankie considered this question a moment. “I do, but it’s not where I want to stay forever. That’s part of my problem—I don’t want to run my own business, but I haven’t yet found the business I want to work for.”

  “What kind of business would you want, if you could pick anything?” Paul asked him.

  “It has to pay decent, because living in Minneapolis is expensive, but mostly I want it to be flexible and interesting. I like solving problems for people. I love it when someone comes in upset because of a cowlick or hates their color or can’t stand their curly hair. I love styling people too, more than just hair—helping people figure out what to wear that flatters them while still giving them functionality and comfort. It’s like doing puzzles, but people get so much out of the end result.”

  “What do you like best about Minneapolis?”

  That question came from Paul, but Marcus listened intently to the answer, which Frankie gave slowly, leaning back against Marcus as he listed the attributes. “I like that people can’t be small-minded in the same way they were back home. Sure, the city is probably run by a circle of influential people the same as Saint Peter, but I don’t have to see their smug faces every day. I can live my life in a bubble that nobody can touch. I like that there are gay people all around me too—not just neighborhoods and bars but that being gay in the Cities is by and large so normal nobody cares. There are places I have to be careful, sure, and some of the immigrant communities are downright dangerous because they brought their prejudices with them, but there are plenty of days I don’t have even a single incident of prejudice or sense of danger because I’m gay.” He paused, then added, “It’s not just about being homosexual, either. It’s about being an effeminate gay man who does hair, whose voice is a little nasal.”

  Arthur tapped his finger on the edge of the couch arm, looking thoughtful. “So it’s not about opportunity or museums or the business for you? It’s about feeling safe?”

  Frankie nodded. “I’d ditch the traffic in a heartbeat. I don’t like the way everyone is snobby about the Cities being better than greater Minnesota—sometimes I miss the simplicity of Saint Peter. Sometimes too I feel like I have a different value system than people in the city, which is weird because I didn’t feel I shared the value system in Saint Peter. But sometimes my friends value things I don’t, like when we go out to plays or concerts and they act like this is what a city is, like when we go to a fancy restaurant and I feel a little out of place, but they feel at home. I don’t know. It’s not simple, and it’s not perfect. But nothing is, is it?”

  Arthur nodded. “That’s how I feel about Duluth. I tried to live there for three months, and I was miserable. Everything felt too big, and nobody was connected. I thought leaving Logan would be the answer, like I’d leave all the prejudice behind, but actually it got worse. I got looked down on for so many other reasons—being a backwoods redneck the biggest one. And I’ll be damned if that didn’t hurt worse than being called a faggot.”

  “I still want to get out.” This came from Paul, who was staring moodily into the fire. “I feel trapped here, always have. Duluth would be fine for me—anywhere else would be fine, so long as it wasn’t this small, this stupid, this dead.”

  “Why don’t you go?” Frankie asked.

  Paul didn’t answer, only shrugged.

  They drifted into milder topics after that, but Marcus kept thinking about what Frankie had said about why he lived in Minneapolis. He knew about the kind of acceptance Frankie spoke of, because he’d felt it too. It hadn’t ever meant as much to him as it did to Frankie, though. It certainly hadn’t been enough to keep him there.

  More than anything else, Marcus knew that kind of acceptance wouldn’t ever happen in Logan.

  The thought made him sad, and he realized that despite what he’d told Arthur, he had been mentally mapping out a way to date Frankie for real. The answer was still maybe in theory, but not a chance in reality. It made him sad—and made him that much more determined to enjoy the time he had.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN THEY FINALLY went to bed, Frankie hurried through his nighttime routine. Paul had gone up to the loft, but Arthur and Marcus stood in the kitchen, talking quietly as Frankie padded across the room in bare feet and sweatpants. He made up the sofa himself, got under the covers, then shimmied out of his clothes.

  He was having sex tonight, again.

  It was delicious, too, waiting nude while Marcus got ready to join him. Even hearing Arthur’s voice added to the mystique. It was almost like Marcus was his pasha, and Frankie was the harem boy to be ravished. As soon as he thought that, he felt a little bit ridiculous, and he blushed when Marcus came over and sat beside him, pinning Frankie down.

  “You look like I caught you with your hand in the cookie jar,” he observed.

  Frankie shrugged. “Thinking silly things, is all.”

  “I love silly things.” Marcus ran his hand over Frankie’s hip. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

  Frankie decided to hell with it. “I was having a princess fantasy. A pasha fantasy this time, but it’s really the same thing.” Frankie blushed. “It’s silly, I know.”

  “Did I say it was silly?”

  “You don’t have to.” Frankie averted his gaze. “I hadn’t meant to blurt all that out about wanting to feel like a princess earlier. I mean, I did, but—” He bit his lip. “I know I shouldn’t feminize myself. Josh is always getting angry about it. And I know you said to stop calling myself unmanly. The thing is, I’ve never been able to do the boy things, to play the boy games. Not when I was a kid, not now. I can’t do the big guffaws like Arthur or be smooth and smart like you. I can’t even do that reserved, stalwart thing like Paul. Or the smart, sassy thing like my boss does, and Josh—”

  He stopped, because Marcus’s hand had dug into his hip, claiming his attention. Marcus’s eyes were dark and serious. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Marcus slid his hand down Frankie’s leg as he sat back with a sigh. “You know, it’s funny—earlier you were talking about how in Minneapolis you feel safe and okay because you can be in a bubble. I know what you’re talking about. I’ve been in that bubble. And yeah, I was able to pass for straight all the way up until I put a cock in my mouth. People
still blink when they realize my orientation. Do you know, sometimes I think that’s worse? Maybe not worse, but it’s no better. So you stood in the locker room and they jeered at you—they invited me to jeer along. All you had to do was deflect or ignore. You were made fun of, but you got to be yourself. I had to stand there and do battle with my conscience, and my conscience always lost, all the way up until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “I never thought about it like that,” Frankie admitted.

  Marcus kept going, like Frankie had uncorked a dam. “I had to watch myself when I practiced law too, sometimes there the most. Those stupid little man-jokes, those subtle putdowns of women, of gays. The worst was when it was a client talking shit. I knew everyone expected me to let water pass under the bridge, but I’d finally gotten to the point I could be out to myself, and they were asking me to go back into the closet. To turn it back into that locker room when I chose to tell myself I was straight because lying to myself was better than getting beat up with the wimpy kid on the floor.” Grimacing, he waved his hand. “It’s stupid, because I had it easy. I know that. I saw how you were afraid of us at the café, even here until Arthur outed us. You had it worse, I get that intellectually. Sometimes I wish I’d had it worse too, though. Sometimes I wish it weren’t so easy to play at being the kind of man we’re supposed to be, because I’m not that man either. I don’t think anybody is.”

  Frankie lay quiet on the bed, drinking in everything Marcus had said. He’d never considered that perspective, and the idea of it rattled his brain something fierce. The very idea of being able to hide in a metaphorical closet instead of getting all too familiar with the janitor’s literal one had been what he yearned for back in the day. Yearning for being a part of the ribald boys’ club jokes wasn’t on his radar, because nobody looked at Frankie and assumed anything but flaming flamer.

  Marcus’s hand against his cheek made him turn, and he saw his blizzard boyfriend looking soft and sad. “Sorry, I think I just burst a bubble in your head.”

  Frankie stroked the back of his hand and gave him a wan smile. “Maybe. I think it was one that had to go, if you did.”

  Marcus’s expression remained serious. “You’re a man, Frankie. I don’t care if you call yourself a princess or shriek like a girl—you’re a man. A better one than a lot of guys I know.”

  Frankie’s throat felt thick. “Nobody’s ever said that to me. Not even like a joke.”

  “What, said you were a man?”

  Frankie shook his head. “Thanks for being the first.”

  Marcus brushed his thumb over Frankie’s knuckles. “Thanks for getting stranded at Arthur’s house.”

  Oh God, he was going to cry. Frankie swallowed and blinked hard. “Anytime.” He wiped at his eyes and tried to smile. “Now stop talking and kiss me.”

  He did, and it was as glorious as the kisses Frankie had woken to that morning, the ones they’d stolen during the day, and the ones from the day before. He’s perfect, Frankie thought, the truth filling him with joy and despair at once. He tried to tell himself he was just infatuated, that this was cabin fever talking, that there wasn’t anything special about Marcus except that they were moderately compatible and trapped together. His heart, right or wrong, refused to believe that was true. Marcus was perfect for Frankie, and that was a fact.

  It was also a fact that they only had a few days left to be together.

  “Tell me what you want,” Frankie whispered as Marcus shed his clothes. Frankie ran his fingers through the thick pelt on Marcus’s chest. “I told you last night, now you tell me.”

  “Would you fuck me, if I asked?”

  Frankie’s eyes went wide. “Sure—I just…sure.”

  Marcus’s smile went sideways as he pulled his belt out of its loops. He held it in his hand a moment, and Frankie stilled, eyes trained on it. Marcus laughed and set it aside. “I already know you don’t like that.”

  Thank God. Frankie couldn’t get Marcus’s question out of his head, though. “Do you really want that? Me to fuck you?”

  “Sure.” Marcus got off the bed and stepped out of his pants before lifting the blanket and climbing inside, wrapping his naked body around Frankie’s. “Maybe not tonight necessarily, but it’s good to know it’s on the table.”

  “The thing is, nobody’s ever asked me to fuck them,” Frankie blurted. His cheeks colored as he added, “I worry I’d screw it up.”

  That made Marcus laugh. “You can’t screw up fucking someone. Well—okay, you can. A lot. But it’s not rocket science.”

  “I don’t get how I could be good for someone like you,” Frankie confessed. “I couldn’t ever be as strong as you are. It’d have to feel like a spastic monkey poking you in the ass.”

  Marcus laughed so hard at that he collapsed onto the bed, and when he lifted his head, he had tears in his eyes. “Spastic monkey. No, hon, I don’t think that’s what you’d feel like in my ass, but my God, the image.”

  Frankie slapped at him playfully, unable to help smiling too. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” Marcus wiped his eyes again. “And I think now we really had better have you fuck me, so you can see how far off base you are.”

  Frankie reached up and touched Marcus’s face, loving the sight of him, but remembering this was a temporary thing. That knowledge was starting to torture him. “I hate that we only have so many nights left.”

  Frankie didn’t mean to, but he held his breath, waiting for Marcus to say something romantic and noble, even pasha-like, something about how it didn’t have to be that way. He didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all, only bent down and kissed Frankie softly on the lips.

  Opening his mouth, Frankie took him in deeper, and pretty soon he was flat on his back, knees spread as Marcus pressed their naked bodies together. He clung to Marcus’s chest and ground against him, loving that heavy pressure. For a minute he hesitated, wondering if he should be doing the seducing since Marcus had asked him to fuck him, but clearly they were saving that for later, the way Marcus kept nudging them back into the same pattern as the night before. Marcus’s hands moved over Frankie’s body, rough but gentle, and everything else fell away, everything that wasn’t making love with the man in bed with him.

  It truly was that too, making love. The night before and in the shed had been raw and hard and full of need, but everything about Marcus tonight was caretaking and tenderness. Even when he pushed Frankie’s legs over his shoulders, nudging a cool, lubed finger against Frankie’s hole, as he sucked down Frankie’s cock then turned Frankie over, spread him wide, and thrust into him—somehow it was different. When Frankie gasped and shuddered around the fullness in his backside, Marcus pressed deeper. “I got you, baby.” The words made Frankie whimper, but when Marcus kissed his back, he melted. “I got you.” He rubbed his beard along Frankie’s back. “So tight. So hot.” His tongue teased Frankie’s spine. “My baby.”

  Frankie had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat. God, if only. Pretend. “I’m yours, Marcus. Just yours.”

  Marcus pulled out a little, then slid slowly back in. Frankie let out a sigh and tried to spread his legs wider, and Marcus licked him with a purr of approval. “So sexy, Frankie. So sweet and hot around my cock.”

  The slide back into dirty talk jolted Frankie, but not in a bad way. He wanted to talk back, but only stupid, sappy, gaggy stuff drifted into his head. Then Marcus pinched Frankie’s ass lightly, and he took it as a command to speak, so it came out anyway. “It’s just for you.” Gaggy or not, Marcus almost growled, so Frankie let it all loose. “Everything is for you, Marcus. I want to give my whole body to you.”

  It didn’t even feel scary to say that—it felt good. He put his head down on the mattress and reveled in the feel of Marcus inside him, of Marcus’s hairy body brushing over his on his back, his arms, his ass. When Marcus turned him over, pushing his legs high as he opened Frankie up, he took in the lurid sight of Frankie’s exposed cock and anus. Frankie pulled h
is legs wider. “It’s all for you, Marcus. All this is for you.”

  Marcus’s eyes stayed hard and possessive as he ran a finger down the crease of Frankie’s thigh. “You shouldn’t encourage me to think that way.”

  “I want to,” Frankie insisted. Marcus teased his hole, and he shivered. “I like to.”

  The tip of a finger slipped inside him, nudging, not entering. “I like hearing you say that. A lot.” The finger pressed deeper, and Marcus’s face went softer, pensive. “I went with Arthur a few times for his scenes. I look big and tough, and plenty of guys—not all of them John Inmans, either—wanted me to Dom them. It didn’t work. I felt awkward, and I always went home feeling stupid.” His free hand stroked Frankie’s thigh. “I don’t feel stupid with you.”

  Frankie shut his eyes and listened, his attention split by the way Marcus’s finger began to fuck him slowly. His lips parted on a gasp, and he licked them before he gave his own confession. “I always wanted something like this too. Wanted to feel like I could let go and it would be safe.” He nuzzled back against Marcus, turning his head as much as he could toward Marcus’s body. “But I want to try—I want to fuck you too. I want everything with you.”