Ficlet: Sweater Weather
Babe liked a little chill in his veins. He loved brisk winds on autumn days full of that scent and taste of cool temperatures. He’d missed that feeling most of all on summer days in St. Boniface when it was too hot to sleep, lying bare ass naked on the floor boards with a fan whirring out until it died and lulled him into rest. Gene didn’t like being cold, not in the least, wore thick socks to bed when it was still warm outside and curled into Babe at night, stealing his body heat along with the covers. When Mother Nature decided to switch things up and send a blast of artic weather down into the bayou long before the start of winter, Babe honestly didn’t know what to expect or how his southern friend friends were going to survive it, but Christ, was it entertaining.
Seeing Shelton walk around in a full sweat suit with Hillbilly’s stolen snow boots would never not be funny, but watching Gene put on layers of old, moth-eaten sweaters was just sad. Babe was pretty sure there were laws against watching anything that pathetic shuffle around the house with a red nose and a foul mood.
“Gene,” Babe said with a laugh as he watched him wiggle into the storage crawlspace.
“Yeah?” Gene asked. He come back out shivering and covered in dust and cobwebs.
“What the hell you doing?” Babe asked. He frowned at the sweater Gene was wearing; even Bill Cosby would’ve burned it. “Please tell me you’re not digging more shit out of the place where fashion went to die.”
Gene gave him the finger before tugging out an old suitcase. Babe leaned over his shoulder and saw the peeling gold-stamped initials of FR.
“Your dad?” he asked.
Gene nodded. “He toured up north some. Paw-Paw stuck a bunch of his old clothes in here. I figured there might be a thing or two the mice haven’t gotten to yet.”
“Don’t you mean the nutrias?” Babe asked. He gagged as he thought of those nasty ass things.
“They don’t come in this house, Edward,” Gene promised. “Merl-Francis knows he ain’t to lure them inside.”
For his own sense of security, Babe didn’t question that further. He ruffled Gene’s hair instead, ignoring the glare it got him, and tilted his head to the door.
“Princess, I’m pretty fucking sure any clothes Frank had stashed in there smell like the stalest beer and cigarettes that can only be found at the most back alley of shithole bars. Leave the case where it is; I’ve got you covered. Remember when the whole of my family descended on our lovely home with all my worldly possessions? Ma put some of my winter clothes in there just in case Hell decided to freeze over and St. Boniface saw snow.”
Gene frowned at him, but eventually let go of the old, scuffed leather and fabric. His eyes lingered on the suitcase for a moment longer, one more set of mementos in a house full of memories, before he stood. Babe wrapped his arms around Gene’s waist and smiled into Gene’s soft hair when he leaned back into Babe’s hold.
“Come on,” he said as he nosed Gene’s temple, “let’s get you a proper sweatshirt.”
Gene’s shoulders shook as he snorted. “If you dress me up like an obsessed Phillies fan, you’re sleeping alone until Thanksgiving.”
“You’d never survive without me beside you,” Babe argued.
Gene turned around and gave him a bored look. “I’d just crawl into bed with Merl-Francis like I did long before I took pity on this stupid idiot who got drunk enough to get run over by a parade float.”
“I was pushed,” Babe protested with no real heat in his words. It was an old argument, as familiar as the taste of Gene on his lips. He wrapped his fingers around Gene’s strong wrists and tugged him out into the hall. “How about I let you push me into bed instead? That’s much better than even proper winter gear.”
Gene broke Babe’s hold as he crowded Babe into a wall. Cold fingers snuck under Babe’s shirt as Gene pressed his fingers low on Babe’s belly. “That better be a promise you can keep, Edward.”
“Really you fuckers?” Leyden’s nasally voice floated up from a floor below. “There are innocent eyes in this fucking house. I don’t think Ack-Ack and Hillbilly are ready to give Sledge the talk just yet, and none of us want to hear your homemade porno. Take in to your room.”
“I’m gonna rip out his goddamned throat,” Babe growled.
“No bloodstains on the carpet,” Gene reminded him. His hands fit into the cut of Babe’s hips and tugged him forward. “You can kill Leyden later. Drown him in the swamp for all I care, but for now you got a promise to keep and I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon.”
Babe took Gene’s mouth in a kiss then, hungry, deep, and full of love. “Yeah, I’ll keep you warm.”
Seeing Shelton walk around in a full sweat suit with Hillbilly’s stolen snow boots would never not be funny, but watching Gene put on layers of old, moth-eaten sweaters was just sad. Babe was pretty sure there were laws against watching anything that pathetic shuffle around the house with a red nose and a foul mood.
“Gene,” Babe said with a laugh as he watched him wiggle into the storage crawlspace.
“Yeah?” Gene asked. He come back out shivering and covered in dust and cobwebs.
“What the hell you doing?” Babe asked. He frowned at the sweater Gene was wearing; even Bill Cosby would’ve burned it. “Please tell me you’re not digging more shit out of the place where fashion went to die.”
Gene gave him the finger before tugging out an old suitcase. Babe leaned over his shoulder and saw the peeling gold-stamped initials of FR.
“Your dad?” he asked.
Gene nodded. “He toured up north some. Paw-Paw stuck a bunch of his old clothes in here. I figured there might be a thing or two the mice haven’t gotten to yet.”
“Don’t you mean the nutrias?” Babe asked. He gagged as he thought of those nasty ass things.
“They don’t come in this house, Edward,” Gene promised. “Merl-Francis knows he ain’t to lure them inside.”
For his own sense of security, Babe didn’t question that further. He ruffled Gene’s hair instead, ignoring the glare it got him, and tilted his head to the door.
“Princess, I’m pretty fucking sure any clothes Frank had stashed in there smell like the stalest beer and cigarettes that can only be found at the most back alley of shithole bars. Leave the case where it is; I’ve got you covered. Remember when the whole of my family descended on our lovely home with all my worldly possessions? Ma put some of my winter clothes in there just in case Hell decided to freeze over and St. Boniface saw snow.”
Gene frowned at him, but eventually let go of the old, scuffed leather and fabric. His eyes lingered on the suitcase for a moment longer, one more set of mementos in a house full of memories, before he stood. Babe wrapped his arms around Gene’s waist and smiled into Gene’s soft hair when he leaned back into Babe’s hold.
“Come on,” he said as he nosed Gene’s temple, “let’s get you a proper sweatshirt.”
Gene’s shoulders shook as he snorted. “If you dress me up like an obsessed Phillies fan, you’re sleeping alone until Thanksgiving.”
“You’d never survive without me beside you,” Babe argued.
Gene turned around and gave him a bored look. “I’d just crawl into bed with Merl-Francis like I did long before I took pity on this stupid idiot who got drunk enough to get run over by a parade float.”
“I was pushed,” Babe protested with no real heat in his words. It was an old argument, as familiar as the taste of Gene on his lips. He wrapped his fingers around Gene’s strong wrists and tugged him out into the hall. “How about I let you push me into bed instead? That’s much better than even proper winter gear.”
Gene broke Babe’s hold as he crowded Babe into a wall. Cold fingers snuck under Babe’s shirt as Gene pressed his fingers low on Babe’s belly. “That better be a promise you can keep, Edward.”
“Really you fuckers?” Leyden’s nasally voice floated up from a floor below. “There are innocent eyes in this fucking house. I don’t think Ack-Ack and Hillbilly are ready to give Sledge the talk just yet, and none of us want to hear your homemade porno. Take in to your room.”
“I’m gonna rip out his goddamned throat,” Babe growled.
“No bloodstains on the carpet,” Gene reminded him. His hands fit into the cut of Babe’s hips and tugged him forward. “You can kill Leyden later. Drown him in the swamp for all I care, but for now you got a promise to keep and I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon.”
Babe took Gene’s mouth in a kiss then, hungry, deep, and full of love. “Yeah, I’ll keep you warm.”