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Winter Windows

The December chill seeped through the curtains and made the air dry and sharp. Darby's nose itched when he drew a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut until orange and blue swirled through the dark like an oil spill. The drifting colors ushered sleep back in.

He rolled over. A bedspring cracked in the mattress beneath his shoulders and shuddered. He pressed his face into Bev's shoulder and sighed. Warm air puffed back against his cheeks.

"Morning." Bev's quiet voice was deeper and hoarse. Tired. Somehow sweet as ever.

"Mm."

"Sleep well?"

"Mmgh."

"Mornings aren't as romantic as they seem in films, are they."

"My hard-on begs to differ."

Bev craned his neck to press a kiss against Darby's tousled hair. He let it linger, nose still buried in bubblegum blonde. Bev always said through a smile "I love you terribly" after every morning's first kiss. Today he didn't.

Darby wedged his head deeper between Bev's shoulder and chin. He rubbed his nose against his neck.

"You okay, buddy?" Darby kept his eyes closed. The sandalwood and pine from Bev's soap filled his head and mingled with his thoughts.

"I'm fine, Darby."

"Liar. I feel your heart pounding."

"Maybe I find mornings romantic after all."

"Nah. Even I don't. I was teasing."

"Is that so?"

"My mouth still tastes like dryer lint and this is a cold tent I'm pitchin', so don't flatter yourself too much, big boy."

Bev rolled to his side, slow and heavy and sleepy. He kept Darby's head pillowed on his arm. He hauled him closer and tucked his knees in around him to fit Darby into the curve of his body. A long, labored breath shivered against Darby's hair.

Darby burrowed into Bev's embrace, hiding his face against Bev's chest away from the morning light. He curled his fingers into Bev's sleeve and clung.

"You smell nice," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"Thank you."

"'S'fresh. Nice. Smells like a nature trail."

"Darby."

"Mm."

"Will you say my name to me?"

"Mmh. Bevvy."

"The one that only you call me."

"Al . . . ?"

"I like that very much."

"S'just a nickname. I can't pronounce your full name. And sometimes 'Bev' vibrates in my mouth and tickles."

"I like it. It reminds me that things are different now. That I'm not just cycling between IDs that call me Alexis Nguyen or Stacey Huynh or Taylor Ngo or other faces I've become that even I've forgotten. That 'Beverly' isn't just a job. And that 'Al' belongs to Darby."

"Bever-lee." Persistent singsong.

"Mhm."

"How long has it been?"

"Since?"

"You came back. Back here."

Bev sighed into Darby's hair. "Two years."

"Two. You still talk so dang stiff."

"I do."

"Like you're reading a script for life."

"It comes by practice as well as force of habit."

"You need to just let things come out sometimes. Use some inflection."

"And you could also benefit by moments of thinking before you speak. You sound like you're chewing gum."

"Tread easy, jefe. An arm isn't the only thing I lost. One of my teeth is still in the 21st century somewhere."

Silence smothered like a quilt. So did guilt.

"You think Bonnie would let me have her gum?" Darby joked.

"I really do."

"I've never asked. She needs it or she'll chew her pencils."

Silence settled. Bev swallowed. It was loud and his throat moved against the side of Darby's head. Darby flexed his fingers around Bev's sleeve, almost letting go before gripping it again.

"What's wrong, Al?"

"It's okay. Shh." Bev brought his hand to Darby's head and fumbled lightly across his ear and forehead before tucking his fingers into his loose tumble of rumpled hair. He stroked, gentle enough to be soothing but firm enough to remind that he was strong and composed.

"You're bothered by something," Darby said quietly. "Was it because I made a sex joke too early?"

Bev gave a puff of a laugh. He tightened his fingers in Darby's hair.

"No."

"You haven't said you love me. I know I'm paranoid, but—" Darby slid his hand to Bev's arm, hesitant at first, then pressing. Bev's skin was cool against his palm.

"—but I've learned to read you."

Bev remained still and silent. Then, finally, he moved. He drew a tired breath, digging his elbow into the mattress for leverage and propping his head against his fist. His brawny arm pressed too uncomfortably against Darby's neck.

Darby shifted, separating from Bev to mirror his position. They stared at one another, searching faces wearily, eyes sinking halfway shut to blot out the warming sunlight that eavesdropped through the crushed yellow curtains.

Bev reached. He cupped his hand to Darby's jaw and smoothed his thumb along his cheek, crackling stubble.

"I've always been enamored with how kind your eyes look," Bev said. He tracked his fingers upwards, past the low cheekbones. Darby closed his eyes. Bev hovered his thumb. Blue engulfed the orange in the darkness. The strong fingers that could crumple his skull like a styrofoam cup brushed soft as a fluttering moth. Bev moved his thumb across Darby's eyelid, tracing the long lashes.

"You're beautiful."

"Suck-up."

"You've known that."

"Insuff'rable sycophant."

"Not to you."

"Buttkiss. I don't try to look great anymore. Too far gone. In, uhh, old age," he added, too lightly and lamely.

Bev's thumb trembled with every heartbeat. He circled the bruise that smudged like a shadow around Darby's eye. It still hadn't faded.

"You don't have to try. Thirty is still in the distance."

"Talk to me, Alex."

"You wouldn't want me to."

"Try me."

"Sometimes, Darby, in the morning before I open my eyes . . . when I feel you, small and light against me, long hair tumbling over my arm or neck, and saw-edged breaths against my skin, and the scent of floral shampoo growing too bitter in my chest . . . I'm far away, in bed with her instead."

Darby swallowed. He kept his eyes closed. The thought marinated. It crawled, dragging the cold with it like a creeping frost.

"Do you like to be there?"

"It's familiar."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Darby chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn't breathe. When he spoke again, his voice was labored.

"Are you disappointed when you open your eyes and see me there instead?"

"Oh, Darby."

"Are you . . . ?" And his voice cracked, ugly and unpleasant, telltale, an almost teenage tenor, and he shut his mouth. His teeth clicked.

Bev continued to smooth the soft pad of his thumb over Darby's eyelid.

"I'm not. I'm not disappointed. Before I open my eyes, I feel my heart ache. I'm afraid to look when the sun warms my face because I don't want to see her chestnut curls spread across my pillow. I'm afraid to find that it's the scent of her shampoo in my lungs or her breath tickling my skin. I've awoken so many mornings to see her and I never expected it to be different.

"But when I finally look, and find that you're the one stirring beside me, I remember that this is real. And that I never need to fear losing mornings like this."

Wrinkles lumped beneath Darby's lip.

"You talk like freakin' Keats," he said in a fevered whisper. "I never could stand it."

"I'm partial to Whittier, myself."

"I'd be horny if I weren't about to cry."

Bev blew a thin sigh. He touched the side of his hand to Darby's face and let his fingers furl. His knuckles skimmed down, prickled by the shadow of a beard. Darby tilted his head up, chin jutting almost in defiance. Bev tucked his fingers beneath Darby's chin and stroked his thumb over his lips, back and forth. They were dry and chapped.

"Are you able to look at me?"

Darby did. The lashes fluttered in a few blinks as sunlight melted in. Green-brown eyes stared back at Bev, shiny behind a water glaze.

"I could get new shampoo," Darby said. His voice was stuffy. "A kind that doesn't smell like her."

Bev's beseeching gaze flicked across Darby's face, skimming every detail almost in caffeinated desperation.

"I bought you some. I was going to save it for Christmas next week."

"Yeah?"

"It's strawberry and yogurt."

"Mm."

"Some array of coconut milk and vitamins in the mix to keep thick hair as soft as a fresh sheet. I can't quite recall."

"The kind in that big pump bottle with the French name? Nifty."

"So it is. I prefer coconut oil."

Darby studied Bev's face intently. A smile hitched up one half of his mouth. His watery eyes squinted. He caught one of Bev's loose locks between his fingers and tugged.

Bev closed his hand over Darby's and held it to his cheek. Darby's hand was cold and rough and dry.

"Cherish it, papa," Darby said. "Last one I got."

"I'll cherish it and the rest of you as well."

"Good plan, buddy."

Darby sighed and it lingered. He smoothed his hand to the back of Bev's head, through the tight curls, and down his nape, playing his fingers gently over the knolls of his vertebrae. Darby tucked his arm around Bev's neck and urged him closer. Their noses brushed. Darby closed his eyes again.

"You still haven't said it."

Bev nudged his nose against Darby's.

"Said?"

"That you—mmh—that you love me." A quiet moan of appreciation spread out his words when Bev nuzzled his cheek.

"You're insatiable," Bev mumbled against Darby's ear, low and husky. He rubbed his nose into Darby's hair. Darby clutched him tighter.

"You like it."

A smile seeped into Bev's voice. They'd exchanged this many times before.

"And how do you know?" he asked, as he always had.

"It turns you on."

"Perhaps it does."

"Say it. Tell me how you love me. I think you oughta. If you focus on me—me, me, me—it'll keep that old broad of yours out of your mind."

Bev held his face to Darby's, forehead to forehead. His reflection was a shadow in the dark eyes.

"I love you," he said at last. It was quiet and almost reverent. He placed his head on Darby's head, over his ear, and ruffled his thumb through his hair.

"Is that it?" Darby said.

Bev angled his head into the pillow. He flattened his hand against Darby's head and brought him closer. Their lips nearly brushed. Darby's eyes sank shut. He drew a sharp little breath. When he exhaled, it was warm.

"I don't quite know how to say it," Bev murmured against Darby's lips. He basted in the silence for a moment, lulled by the softness of Darby's skin against his and the ticking of his sleepy blinks.

"It's strange, you know. Words are some of the most passionate things I have. I never hesitated with Teddy. The words rattled. They were always easy to recite because I wasn't attached to them.

"But when I want to tell you everything I feel for you, I don't know where to begin. My heart absolutely swells and yet I've no clue what to tell you. 'I love you' isn't enough. I don't believe anything would be as much as you deserve. Nothing that I could offer, at any rate. Maybe the words to explain it don't even exist yet."

"That's pretty freakin' sexy, big fella." Darby's smile slurred. He pulled up his shoulders and laughed in a couple of huffs. "I'll take it. I'll take it."

Bev laughed too. It was shaky. He pressed Darby closer and his fingers quivered.

"Oh, Al. You're—you're choking up. God, don't. You'll make me cry too."

"I'm sorry."

"No! No, no." Darby clutched Bev's cheek, pushing his fingers into the meat. "Don't be sorry. You love me, Al. I know that."

Bev's eyes were watery. The sunlight caught them. Pinpoint prisms glistened behind the tears.

"Kiss me, Darby, won't you?"

Darby swallowed both his name and the last two words, on Bev's mouth before Bev even finished speaking. He craned his neck to kiss deeper, pressing Bev back. Bev's fingers curled into his hair and squeezed, tugging him further in.

The kiss broke with a sticky pop. They kept their noses together and eyes closed, breathing in minced whuffs. Their thoughts drifted with the silence, aglow with contentment and relief.

"I kiss better than that two-cent harpy you kept at home, don't I."

"You could be the worst kisser in the world, love, and I'd nevertheless feel more wonderful with you than I would anyone else."

"I'm not, am I?"

"Not . . . ?"

"The worst kisser in the world."

Bev hummed through a smile.

"Perhaps we should run through that again so I can decide."

Darby tangled his fingers into Bev's hair and caught him in another open-mouthed kiss. Bev returned the intensity and pressure. Rather than carefully break away, Bev propped himself onto his elbow and leaned over Darby. Darby hooked his elbow around Bev's neck and let Bev roll atop him, pinning him by the kiss.

His tongue traced every tooth in a hungry journey, prodding and rubbing. It was heated and desperate, as though they were teenagers sneaking a last pass in the hall as the bell blared.

Then, just as quickly as it had intensified, the kiss softened and became tender. Bev's deep moan muffled against Darby's chin, vibrating his teeth in a buzz. The sound alone made Darby pitch back his head into the pillow and whimper with him, almost pleading.

Bev licked along Darby's lower lip, following the seam, and gathered it into his mouth. Holding the flesh between his teeth, he lavished it with gentle nibbles that barely grazed. Darby clamped his arm more fiercely around Bev's neck. He screwed his eyes shut, pushing his shoulders into the pillow to stiffen his back.

Bev sucked at his lip in a couple of pulses that were halfway lost to the air and caressed it with his tongue in soothing strokes. He tugged, once, twice, and released Darby's lip with a smack.

Bev leaned back with his hands still buried in Darby's hair. Darby stared up at him, flushed and dazed, his mouth slack.

"Oh my god . . . Al," he said. He heaved to catch his wind, as if he'd just stumbled across a marathon finish line. "That was—aces."

"Aces," Bev repeated in a whisper. His curls mingled with Darby's forelock.

"I'm about to bust the stitching in my boxer shorts."

"Do be careful, love."

"I'm glad I'm the lucky whore with a ring to match yours rather than Teddy the Tramp."

Bev brought his hands down Darby's shoulders, squeezing fondly.

"Teddy and I never married."

"Whatever. Engaged. But we're different, bagel boy. We match. I'm all yours."

"And I'm yours, Darby. From top to bottom, I'm none but yours. Every bit of me today, everything that's made me, and everything I'll continue to become."

Another little moan creaked low in Darby's throat. He pressed his face to Bev's shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed, and clung there.

"I'm gonna Mike-Tyson you in a minute, shrimpsteak," he muttered. "I love you so much and half of it goes to my heart to make it feel like it's gonna melt right through my ribs, and the other half goes straight to my pants."

"Part of being a strong couple is solving problems together," Bev replied. He rested his chin atop Darby's head and wrapped one big arm around him to hold him there.

"Come on, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy," Darby said. "You're so prim. You couldn't have kissed me like that and still be bleached-bone dry. The sun's barely come up and it's cold as balls out. You wanna scooch under the covers 'n' make love too, don't you?"

"You said earlier that you can read me. I never said you were wrong to have your confidence in doing so."

"I have keen senses, papa," Darby whispered back. He raised his head to peek over Bev's shoulder. Bit by bit, stealthy as a stalking cat, he turned his head until his nose nudged the side of Bev's head. He caught Bev's ear between his fangs and fondled his tongue over the ebony stud earring.

"I know you mentioned expensive shampoo for Christmas," Darby murmured against Bev's ear. "But, you know, there's only one thing I really want."

"Which is . . . ?"

Darby cupped his hand to the side of Bev's head. He spoke hushed and husky, a rare gravity deepening his voice an octave, sending delicious chills careening down Bev's back.

"That huge thing of yours, big boy. Up in me as far as it'll possibly go and slow-sweet hittin' the spot that you know has me sobbin' your name to break a heart and begging like I'm crumpled on Sunday's altar."

The December chill lay flat and heavy in the air. Sunlight turned blue as it found its way through gray clouds, making the morning seem endless; as some mornings were meant to be.

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