Happiness
It had been a spur of the moment thing and, I have to admit, spectacularly badly timed. Brian had however dealt with the circumstances far better than I could ever have anticipated.
“You think you could possibly tear yourself away from that winter wonderland?” Brian snarked. “Oh, and close the fucking windows?”
“Listen to it, though. It’s fucking amazing!” and it is. We were taking a quick trip up to Vermont with a detour through New Hampshire when the storm hit. After the third sideway slide even Brian agreed it was time to call it a night and we managed to find an inn one of the ice scraping locals cheerfully pointed us toward. I turned back to the open casement window and listened, once again entranced by the crackling of the ice as the early sun finally freed the surrounding trees from their glassy prison.
Our room has an open view fireplace, well it’s a suite, actually, and while Brian bitched about being in “the middle of fucking nowhere with a pile of Duraflame fucking logs, (read applewood and a branch or two of pine for ambience) he hasn’t exactly been complaining about plowing my toasty warm ass in front of it for the last couple of days we’ve been waiting out this ice storm. Meg and Sully are great hosts and this place is amazing - it’s a roadhouse on the Boston Post Road dating back to the 1700’s but with a generator station. As they said, they aren’t stupid. New England equals snow, ice, wind, and power outages. Brian had a few remarks about the “Live Free or Die” license plates here until Sully reminded him that it meant everyone should mind their own fucking business including him after which he gave Brian a mug or five of locally distilled hard apple cider and all was right in the Brian Kinney world.
Sometimes Brian needs to be reminded to shut the fuck up so I’m always grateful for any outside help. Doesn’t really take much to make me happy though if his mouth is shut I don’t get blown or rimmed or kissed so I guess it’s one of those “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” things. Lesser of two evils - or is that greater? Dunno.
I hate logic, I just wanna get fucked within an eighth of an inch of my life right this very fucking minute and I want to hear the crackling of the ice encased branches as it happens. We have a small farmer’s porch off our suite and I throw those doors open as well and then pull out a few goose down duvets from the heavy cherry wood Amish wardrobe and trail them to the edge of the porch.
“What the fuck are you, batshit crazy?”
I laugh and pull them onto the deck. “Come out here,” I tell him as I shrug off the azure alpaca wrap I had draped around me. Who said the Granite State was uncivilized? “We’ll keep each other warm. Unless you’re not up to the challenge, old man.”
I know how to work him and while the freeze of the frigid air on my back and ass and dick is not exactly pleasant, I hear a certain someone’s breathing quicken and deepen. I laugh and let him hear it.
Gotcha.
“You are fucking certifiable if you think I am fucking you out there,” he snorts.
“Guess at your advanced age the adventurous fuck has lost its appeal,” I laugh, playing along. His sweats, the ones I love, grey and thin from wear and about to have a hole poked in them by his dick, slip even lower on his hips than usual as he reaches up to rub his head.
“We leave for Sweden in two days, assuming we get chiseled out in time. That’s not cold and wet and snowy enough for you? You needed more?” He tips the Tullamore Dew into our coffees then rolls his eyes at my expression. “We’re in the middle of nowhere with Micks to the south and Frogs to the north. It’s either Irish whiskey or cheap reds and personally, in coffee, I prefer whiskey.”
He strolls out onto the deck and winces at the fine sleet that has suddenly reappeared.
“Here,” he smirks as he hands me his heavy stoneware mug as I follow him out. “Drink up. You’re going to need it.”
I accept it and take a deep draught. Fuck, that was more than a drop of whiskey in there. Smooth, though. I smile and hand it back before I move to lay myself across the now wet and ice crusted duvets.
“Oh, no, no, no, Justin,” Brian smirks as he pulls me up roughly. “You want to fuck out here in the middle of the great white north, it’s your lily white ass that’s going to take the brunt of it. Now this is how it’s going to be.” He settles himself against the now soggy eiderdown covers and winces at the squishy cold feel against his back. I smirk, but it fades quickly in reaction to his intense stare.
“Get to work,” he orders me.
I do.