Let It Snow

by Heidi Cullinan

  “What type is that?”

  “Assholes, according to my roommates.” Frankie picked invisible lint from his jeans. “I like a guy who seems self-assured, is how I’d put it. Who has the confidence I can’t seem to find. Smart, but not snobby. Safe, though, above all. Simple’s totally okay—in fact, the closest I came to a relationship was with this electrician. He was so sweet, so tender in bed, so much fun when we were together. Totally confident when it came to the two of us—he sort of took charge, reminding me to do things I tend to space out over, always drove so I didn’t get lost—that kind of thing.”

  “What happened?”

  Frankie’s heart sank at the memory. “I was too swishy for him. Too thin, too femmy, too ready to shriek at spiders. It’s my fault—when we met, I was in this mode where I was trying to deliberately butch it up, or tone down the swish or whatever. I think he fell for that, so when I relaxed and finally was myself…” He gave a chagrined smile. “Well, it sucked, knowing he really was rejecting me for me, I have to tell you.”

  Marcus frowned. “I don’t get this saying you’re not a man. I mean, so you definitely have the John Inman thing going on—”

  “John who?”

  Now Marcus’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously? You never watched PBS as a kid—Are You Being Served?” When Frankie shook his head, Marcus did too. “Shame. It was set in a department store in London, and the show was a comedy revolving around the different personalities in the various departments on the same floor. John Inman played Mr. Humphries, the obviously gay guy in haberdashery. Always made jokes about his drawers and said I’m free!” Marcus said the latter in sharp falsetto, flicking a limp wrist. “It’s one of those things where at the time it was a real mix: BBC worried about including someone so openly gay, gay rights people said he set them back. Mostly I think it was the sort of thing they’ll look back at one day and call an important step of history. John Inman as a person, though, was sort of your gay spiritual cousin. Smart, funny, a bit of wit, but mostly a nice guy who I bet took a lot of shit behind the scenes.”

  “And he was swishy?” Frankie added.

  “And he was swishy. He never turned away from the camp stuff. Embraced it, made it his own.” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “For the record, I think swishy is just fine, though maybe calling you delicate would be more flattering.”

  Frankie snorted. “In high school they liked to pretend to screw up and call me by female pronouns: give it to Frankie, she’ll love it. That sort of thing.”

  “Yes, but those losers are all still back in Saint Peter working at the Super Walmart, right?”

  Frankie shrugged. “I guess. I never really paid attention.”

  “All the more reason to tell yourself they are. Probably do you a world of good.”

  They sat in silence awhile after that, sipping their whiskey and watching the fire die down. The voices upstairs had stopped—apparently there wouldn’t be any acrobatic sex tonight. It occurred to Frankie that perhaps that was the right approach to his relationship with Marcus, to forgo the sex at least for now. Really, it would be an odd note after such deep, soul-baring discussion. He wasn’t exactly in the mood anymore, and the whiskey had him nice and relaxed. Marcus seemed to be in much the same place.

  Right. No sex just yet.

  Rising, Frankie set his glass on the end table. “I’m going to change into pajamas and brush my teeth, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” Marcus stood as well. “I’ll shut down the generator for the night and make up the bed while you do that, then take my turn.”

  Frankie smiled to himself as he went through his ablutions, feeling almost glad in that moment for the storm. It was almost like being on vacation, except for the whole isolated-and-cut-off-from-the-grid thing. Having his three bears certainly helped, because they knew what to do. They took him in, made him feel safe—and now Marcus was shaping up to be a friend, someone he’d keep in touch with after he went home. Maybe they should declare making out in the shed their gay handshake and call it good. He couldn’t date Marcus because they lived too far away from each other, so why screw up the friendship with sex?

  Yes. Yes, this was the way to go, to leave things platonic, whiskey and all.

  Frankie hummed to himself as he made his way back to the bed, which Marcus had made up, and he’d pulled Frankie’s side back for him too. Nothing about Marcus screamed they were about to have a boink-fest, so probably he was on the same page as Frankie. Which was good. Great, even. Maybe Frankie was a little disappointed, hoping Marcus would have insisted and talked him out of his plan, but that only lasted until he was under the covers and snuggling down. Nah, this was better. So much better. Hey, he’d gotten off with someone that day already. He was good for another month.

  After finishing up in the bathroom, Marcus turned off the last of the lights, banked the fire, and climbed in beside Frankie.

  “Good night,” Marcus said.

  “Good night,” Frankie replied.

  The quiet of the night unfolded around them, and Frankie shut his eyes, drifting away on the soothing sounds. Wind blowing against the cabin, fire crackling in the hearth. Marcus breathing deep and low, springs of the sofa bed groaning gently when he moved.

  The clunk, grunt, and moan as Arthur and Paul decided sex was a good idea after all.

  As the now-familiar soundtrack wound itself up for the first act, Frankie opened his eyes and stared at his half-finished whiskey and listened to the sounds of lust drifting down the stairs. It took about forty seconds before he felt a rising tide of need inside him, the same as had happened every night, except this time he wasn’t scared of his bed partner. This time he’d already had sex with his bed partner.

  This time he wanted to do it again.

  If he rolled over, it would happen. If he so much as shifted toward the middle, Marcus would do so too, and they’d look at each other, and they’d be off. Frankie knew this with a deep, abiding certainty. He knew too that if he held still, Marcus would do the same.

  What he didn’t know was whether or not he wanted to shift toward the middle.

  The moans became louder from the loft, and Frankie’s hands tightened on the edge of the blanket. Should he? Well no, he shouldn’t. He’d just decided he should leave things as they were with Marcus. He’d been logical and thoughtful and smart.

  Paul cried out, then grunted, and Frankie bit his tongue as his cock swelled. Fuck, he didn’t want to be logical and thoughtful and smart.

  Frankie felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He didn’t hesitate, rolling onto his back before Marcus could say anything. The fire cast Marcus in shadow, but Frankie could still see his expression—rough, needy.

  Hungry.

  Arthur murmured something wicked, and Frankie looked up at Marcus, who stared back down at Frankie.

  Frankie shoved logic out the door, reached for Marcus’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  DON’T FUCK THIS up.

  Marcus was pretty sure screwing up sex with Frankie was a given, but as soon as Frankie looked at him with that please, please fuck me expression, Marcus knew sex was going to happen. For the few seconds he hovered there, he scrambled for last-minute self-coaching—don’t go too fast, listen to him, nothing kinky because you saw how he reacted to the guys upstairs—then Frankie pulled him down for a kiss, and every thought went out of his head as his dick swelled to full mast and took control.

  Even if he hadn’t lost it at simple contact, the mewls Frankie made in the back of his throat sparked something primal Marcus hadn’t allowed himself to dip into for a long time. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the sound of Paul’s tortured groans from the loft, maybe it was the way the wind from the storm seemed to seep into Marcus’s blood and fuse its power with him—whatever the source, Marcus was strong and sure and ready to fuck. He pressed Frankie into the mattress with his body, grabbing his hands and trapping them over his head.

  Frankie whi
mpered and spread his legs, letting Marcus’s erection settle deeper against his own.

  “I want to fuck you.” Marcus broke the kiss to whisper at Frankie’s jaw, nipping at the bare hint of stubble two days of not shaving had provided.

  “Yes,” Frankie whispered back, turning his head to let Marcus have better access to his neck. Upstairs another moan drifted down, and Frankie echoed it. “Oh God, please. Please, Marcus.”

  The rush of fire that had swept through Marcus surged, and he tightened his grip on Frankie as he tried to rein it in. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

  Frankie ground his pelvis underneath Marcus’s own. “Please don’t.”

  Okay, that he hadn’t expected. Marcus growled and kissed him again—a claiming, hard kiss, a man’s kiss, and he moved his hands down to the hem of Frankie’s shirt. Don’t be gentle. A lot of guys said that then meant something different. And there wasn’t any question about how Frankie had reacted to the sex upstairs. As Marcus lifted off to peel his lover’s clothes away, he said, “I’m feeling pretty rough. I don’t want to scare you.”

  Frankie smiled up at him, lust still banked in his eyes. “I’m not a virgin.”

  “Yeah, but—” Another moan from the loft cut him off, also making his own point for him.

  Frankie wasn’t twitching at the sound of sex anymore, though. He pushed up on his elbows and nipped at Marcus’s chin. “What kind of rough are you feeling? Tell me about it. I’ll tell you if it’s okay.”

  Marcus paused, not sure how to answer. It was hard to think with Arthur’s dirty talk and Paul’s erotic agony interrupting every few seconds. “I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want to get this wrong.”

  Though Marcus had braced himself for this to annoy Frankie—it so would have Steve—to his surprise, Frankie smiled. A sweet, tender smile that froze Marcus in place and made something inside him stir, like petals of a flower yearning to bloom. “The last thing in the world I’m thinking about right now is that anything you’re about to do to me will be wrong.” Frankie slid his hands down Marcus’s chest, fingers tangling in the buttons of his shirt. “Mostly I love that you want me. I love that I stopped being scared of you, yelled at you, and that’s what made you kiss me.”

  What the hell? “You were scared of me? Why?”

  Frankie gave him a hard look that said, Oh, please. “Marcus, you have to outweigh me by nearly one hundred pounds. You look, walk, and talk like every guy who’s ever bullied me. Yes, I was scared of you.”

  He looked like a bully? Marcus didn’t even know what to say to that. Except, “I would never hurt you. Not like that. I wouldn’t hurt anybody like that.”

  “I know that—now.” Frankie hadn’t stopped smoothing his hands over Marcus’s chest, and he seemed half-distracted by his ministrations. “God, you’re just so big and sexy. So fucking male it hurts.” His gaze flicked to Marcus’s with a wry smile. “This is what I mean—nobody’s ever going to say that about me.”

  So they were back to that again. “Will you stop? There’s plenty about you that’s sexy. You’ve been driving me crazy since you showed up.”

  “You said that’s because I remind you of your ex.”

  He was never going to live that down. “Yeah, and I thought my ex was pretty fucking sexy.” He shifted his weight to one arm so he could stroke Frankie’s cheek. “Your skin is so soft. It looks soft too, but touching it is amazing.” He caught Frankie’s hand and pulled it between them so he could study it. “These hands get me too. I’ve been watching you do little things like hold a mug, touch your hair—I love your long fingers, the gracefulness about them, and yet they’re a man’s hand.

  “That’s the whole of it, for me. I spent my life until I was twenty trying to make myself like girls because I was supposed to, but I knew it wasn’t for me. If I’d have wanted big, hard guys and nothing else, I’d have caved sooner. I won’t lie, a slab of beefcake has its moments. But I’ve always had a weakness for guys who rode the line. Who smelled like men and were shaped like men but had a soft edge to them at the same time. I don’t think it’s all looks and gestures, either. I think some of it is that I feel so locked into what the world wants me to be—mean and hot for pussy if I’m in Logan, smart and ruthless and made of granite if I’m being a lawyer—that maybe the John Inmans of the world set me free. Like they can go back and forth over that hard line between male and female so much the demarcation isn’t there anymore. That’s sexy to me, Frankie. Really fucking sexy.”

  Frankie had gone quiet as Marcus spoke, still and attentive. When Marcus finished, Frankie stroked Marcus’s beard. “Nobody has ever said anything like that to me. Ever.”

  Marcus hadn’t ever vocalized anything like that before. “Well, I meant it.” Not that he knew what he was supposed to do now, but he did mean it. He felt a little raw and exposed, but oddly calm about that too. He hoped Frankie didn’t feel as undone as he did and would know what they should do next.

  Frankie slipped his other hand around the back of Marcus’s head and pulled him closer, nuzzling his cheek and nose as he spoke. “Marcus, I want you to make love to me.”

  That tightly closed flower inside of Marcus stirred again, a few petals teasing briefly open in their own private wind. “How? What do you want?”

  Frankie’s hands were everywhere, slow and sensual and stoking Marcus’s internal fire. “I want you to show me how much you want me—the touches, the strokes that go with what you just said.”

  Marcus nuzzled Frankie back, his hands tightening against the sheets, against Frankie’s arm. “A hell of a lot more than touches go with how much I want you.”

  Frankie’s soft laugh stirred the breeze inside Marcus’s belly. “I want a hell of a lot more than touches, Marcus.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Marcus shut his eyes and buried his face in the dip of Frankie’s neck, dragging in a deep draught of his scent. “I want you so much that it feels crazy inside me.”

  “Then we’ll play it by ear.” Frankie turned his head and nipped at Marcus’s ear. “Let’s start, though, by getting us both out of these pesky clothes.”

  Marcus had no problem with that idea. He sat up, quickly undoing his buttons and pulling the panels of his shirt away, but he paused, slowing as he caught the way Frankie’s eyes darkened at the show. Marcus smiled, his grin turning tentatively wicked as he tossed his shirt into the darkness and tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down to give Frankie a teasing peek of his groin.

  Frankie groaned and sat up enough to place a kiss at the furry juncture of Marcus’s hip and thigh, nuzzling over to the rising erection still hidden by fabric. “So hot. Oh my God, Marcus, let me see it.”

  Before Marcus could shift the pants out of the way, Frankie took hold of the waistband and did the job for him, setting Marcus’s cock free with one good yank. Marcus watched Frankie’s face as his dick bobbed between them, and the expression he saw there certainly went a long way toward making him harder. Especially when Frankie stroked the length and rested his palm against Marcus’s groin before opening his mouth and taking the tip inside.

  Groaning, Marcus swelled and leaned back, thrusting his hips forward to meet Frankie’s mouth halfway as he drank in the hotter-than-hell sight that was Frankie blowing him. Frankie’s soft moans stirred Marcus’s balls, and when Frankie lifted his gaze and slid back and forth on his cock, Marcus nearly buckled in half.

  “Fuck.” He anchored himself against Frankie’s shoulders, watching his dick move in and out of the hottest, prettiest mouth it had ever met. Thank God he’d come earlier in the day, or this would already be over.

  Frankie smiled around his mouthful, gaze never leaving Marcus’s own. He worked himself along Marcus’s length, his rhythm jerky because he was only half-sitting, propped at a funky angle. Before Marcus could work out how to help him—not many of his brain cells were firing at the moment—Frankie solved his own problem by gripping Marcus’s hips, pulling against them both to hold himself in place and as
an encouragement for Marcus to thrust inside.

  It wasn’t a nudge Marcus needed twice.

  He held back for the first few fucks, until Frankie’s insistent hands made it crystal clear he wanted his face fucked and right now. Marcus did. He thrust his cock into Frankie’s throat, balls tightening at the wet heat, spine curling at Frankie’s moans. It felt good, so fucking good, that all of a sudden he found himself riding the wave, balls tucking up in warning.

  Pulling out abruptly, Marcus caught Frankie’s hair and kept him from chasing his cock. “This is gonna be over real quick if we don’t slow down.”

  “Then we’d better slow down.” Frankie smiled up at Marcus with wicked, swollen lips. “I have big plans for that fat cock of yours.”

  Marcus took said cock in hand, stroking it idly as he tried to decide just how quickly he could get Frankie out of his clothes. “Tell me about these plans.”

  “I want to feel it against mine. I want to feel it slick and hot against me while we jack off.” Frankie leaned forward, teasing the sensitive tip again as he spoke. “I want you to fuck me with it, Marcus. I want it hard and deep and fast.”

  Fast wasn’t going to be a problem. Marcus tightened his grip on Frankie’s hair, mostly because he needed to stop himself from fucking back into that mouth. “Then you’d better get the hell out of those clothes.”

  Frankie did, skimming out of his sweats like they were greased while Marcus pulled his waistband into place and hustled over to the bathroom, hoping there were condoms and lube in the cupboard because he was so not in the mood to go get them from the loft. He found half a box and a pump bottle of Maximus with an inch left in the bottom, grabbed them and went back to the sofa bed.