Winter
Bleak lifeless, motionless
Days and nights spent in the
Hardened sleep of frost and snow
Bitter winds blow
And the branches of the trees lift
Their naked arms to God
In jubilant celebration
Out of impenetrable loneliness
In insufferable desperation
In exalted praiseBy LadyArmand
© 2002 L.R. Brown
Michael's mid-calf length double breasted camel hair coat was whipping mercilessly against his legs. If he thought about it for even a split second, it actually hurt like hell, but then again the stinging pain of it was keeping his subconscious mind from concentrating on the fact he was an almost frozen block of human flesh - something to be thawed out in about a thousand years sliced and analyzed. The thought almost made him smile, but it quickly evaporated when he felt the pain in his face. His feet were cold and numb and he'd stop feeling them about an hour ago. He knew he was going to have hell to pay for it later.
He suddenly shuddered violently while thinking about the acid sting he was going to feel once he got someplace warm and started to thaw out. His hair was damp. He could feel the falling snow melting from the heat escaping from the top of his head. His mother always told him to wear a hat on cold days. Tonight he wished he'd listened to her, but it gave him a perverse pleasure not doing as she asked - even the small things that would benefit him. But tonight, even the very tips of his raven black hair were frosted. He half heartedly thought that if he touched a stand of his hair it would break off in his hand like icicles on the side of a building or on a fence.
When Michael was a kid he used to like to run his hands along snow covered fences hearing the snapping crack and tinkle as the icicles fell onto the snow. He liked the colors they made on top of the blank slate the snow provided as the sun reflected off of them. Then he would look down again as if seeing them for the first time. Something would click in his head as if there was something in the reflected light that was dangerous. Suddenly he would kick snow over them as if he were burying them and in some way saving them from what they might become. He could never figure out exactly what that was. He would always go back a day or so later and try to find the makeshift grave he'd made. It was always an exercise in futility. Now he realized that he was searching for something which had been missing his entire life - a precious jewel lost in a frozen sea of white and disappearing with the snow when spring started to open up her arms to embrace the world.
Now, as he stood in the ever accumulating snow, his body numb, his brain throbbing, and his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to shatter his frozen frame into a million flesh-colored icicles, he felt as he did then, lost, confused, and searching. Only this time, he knew what he sought. He had touched, smelled, and even tasted the object of his all consuming desire. He had looked straight into the awesome glare of the sun and it hadn't blinded him. He had touched its fiery surface and it hadn't burned him. He had even felt the deep blue black of space surrounding it and hadn't been consumed by its vacuum. And now, without it, he was as cold as the wind tearing at the exposed pieces of his flesh. It cut at him like a straight razor slicing down and laying bare the bone.
The frustrating thing of it was that all he had to do was walk the ten steps it would take to get back to the very place he wanted to be. But something sick, dark, and twisted stopped him from moving. Something was whispering, angel soft in his ear, to run in the opposite direction and go back to the life he'd been born to live - that he'd been told would lead him to everyone's idea of perfection. He lived his life, dying of perfection, being buried underneath the weight of its continuously crashing waves, and being beaten against the rocks of its never ending pressures. His body had been bloodied and bruised by perfection's contempt for anything different and its pretense of inclusion. Maybe that's why he took such perverse joy in ignoring his mother whenever opportunity afforded itself.
Ten paces away from him, up a flight stairs to a small apartment was all of heaven he'd ever known and all of hell he'd ever need. The utterly frustrating, completely maddening, devastatingly sexual, unbelievably tender, and breathtakingly beautiful Ben Bruckner whose eyes could invite you in completely while at the same time sizing you up. He could make them into impenetrable fortresses of ice on which you'd beat your hands bloody trying to get in or he could make them melt and invite you in to their warmth and safe haven, washing over you like the tide licking the shore.
Michael looked down at his now completely immersed and frozen feet and closed his eyes. He knew himself and in this moment he hated what he knew more than he'd ever hated anything in his life. He was a coward. He wanted a life that didn't consist of pretending to be something he could never be, something he was never meant to be, but he was afraid of leaving behind the ivory tower he'd built up for himself, the vaunted safety of the familiar. He wanted to be covered by the snow and melt in the spring, becoming something else - a rose, a lily, maybe - anything really except this mass of conflicting and confused emotions.
He wanted to be anything but the man he was - the one standing in the snow looking up at the dirty window of an apartment that only held the one thing he wanted. The one thing he'd been lost without all these years. The one thing that made everything else bearable. The one thing he was afraid to go and get. He wanted something to give him the strength to be braver then he was.
Maybe this was the real reason he was standing here in the snow. Maybe he was just waiting for a sign. He knew how stupid that sounded. He knew it wasn't going to happen, yet there he was freezing his ass off, waiting for it. Longing for it, begging every entity he's ever even remotely heard of for one. It didn't even have to be a big one. He'd take anything at this point.
And when he looked up he got it. Standing in the window with his arms folded over his chest was Ben, in what Michael could only guess was a white sleeveless t-shirt. Ben slowly opened the window and looked down on him without the barrier of the window to obscure his view. He wanted to make sure he was actually seeing what he was actually seeing.
He leaned out of the window a little further, felt the snow falling on top of his head, and smiled. He'd been thinking about Michael all day, willing him to get off his ass and come to see him. But he hadn't really expected to see him, especially not after the last time.
They had gotten into a fight because of one Brian Kinney and his apparent preoccupation with getting involved in Michael's love life. Ben had known that Michael loved Brian, had even guessed that Brian loved him back in that way. But what took him by surprise was the utter dependency Brian had on Michael.
He'd flatly told Michael that if all he wanted was a dick to suck or an ass to fuck, he could get that anywhere. Ben wanted more, needed more, and deserved more than to be someone's second choice.
Michael had waltzed into his life and shattered all the illusions he'd had of himself and what he deserved. For the longest time Ben had been content to live his life a certain way. He never really expected anyone to deal with his HIV status, not on a long-term basis. He was content with his job, going out and living in the now, living for the moment because the moment was all he had. It was the only thing promised to him, and even that was a tentative promise. But the now was the only thing in his life that made any sense. And then there was Michael, and the moment all of a sudden wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough. He quickly wanted so much more. At first it had been fun - exciting even - being chased after so incredibly hard. He'd made Michael work his ass off for even that first kiss. But once they had touched, once the connection had really been made, mingled with saliva, dancing tongues, and racing hands, there had been no turning back. It was as if all the other men he'd ever had just disappeared from his body's instinctive memory. Michael was the first. Michael was the only one. Michael had come along and claimed him, made Ben his own, and Ben had done the same to him. Their bodies fit like the missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
And now, below his window was Michael Novotny his raven haired beauty, standing in the snow like some love sick kid freezing his ass off. Afraid to move, but too terrified to leave. He should just leave him there - at least for another hour or so - but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Michael looked so goddamned pitiful standing there with his arms wrapped around him, trying to fend off the attacking wind.
"You plan on staying there all fucking night? What'll the neighbors think?" Ben shouted out the window before pulling his head back in.
This was it? The sign? He knew he hadn't asked for a big one, not even an awe inspiring one - but sarcasm? He'd been standing in the fucking snow for three hours, freezing his tight little ass off, waiting for his fucking sign. And for what? For fucking sarcasm. And the way Ben did it with that fucking sing song voice. Ben was taunting him. Ben knew exactly what he was doing and he had accused Michael of playing games.
It would serve Ben right if he didn't go up stairs. But who the fuck was he kidding, really? There was no way in all good goddamned hell he was going to get in his car, which was probably stuck in the snow by now, and go the fuck home. There was just no fucking way he was going to actually give up the one thing in his life that ever made any sense at all.
So he dusted himself off, squared his shoulders, and walked those ten paces on his numb feet to the building. He went up the flight of stairs and as he turned the corner, he saw the light streaming out of Ben's apartment. Then he saw him standing there, his arms across his chest and his feet crossed, leaning up against the door jamb, looking like God's gift to horny teenage boys and old frustrated men.
"So you decided to come in?"
"Yeah, well you know what they say about slumming?"
"I'm sure you'll tell me after I've fucked you a few times."
"Could we possibly get out of the hall? I'm freezing and I'm starting to melt here."
"I've noticed that. Did you know you look damn sexy when you're miserable?"
"I could go back outside and you could get your jollies that way."
"You could, but then how would you get your jollies?"
"Good question."
"Here's another one. You stayin'?"
"I don't know. I'll let you know in about fifty or sixty years..."
Michael walked in past Ben, brushing his icy fingers across his nipples and feeling them stand at attention, then he went on into the place he'd be calling home for the next fifty or sixty years. As he looked around, he realized it wasn't such a bad place. All it needed were the few touches he could provide once he got his suggestions past Ben. And knowing Ben, there was only one way to get any suggestion past him with any real success.
Oh hell yeah. He was gonna love it...
It was starting. He could feel it first in the very tips of his fingers. His blood was starting the painful process of re-warming his body. He closed his eyes against the thousands of tiny pins pricking his sensitive flesh. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he heard Ben close the door and slowly walk behind him. Without realizing he'd done it, Michael's back stiffened - almost as if he were expecting to be attacked. For reasons he couldn't explain, every time Ben came near him he got nervous. His body would betray his emotion; he would start to tremble and his breath would quicken. His face would flush and his lips would become plumper, making his mouth look almost pouty. His lips would come alive with sensation. Ben had this very uncanny way of making Michael feel clean, pure, and untouched - loved not in spite of but because of.
His body was an undiscovered country and Ben was an explorer taking his time to mark all the places of note. For Ben, every place on Michael's body was a place of note. Ben would retrace his steps to truly evaluate the value of his newfound treasure. Michael always marveled at the fact that for a man who worked all day molding the mind of young men and women, Ben still had the patience to touch him with such wonderment. There were times he would touch Michael's body as if it were an ancient piece of pottery found after thousands of years, buried in the dark and cold. One wrong move or one moment of thoughtlessness would destroy it, shattering it, not into pieces, but into dust to be scattered to the four winds.
And then there were times when Ben just couldn't wait, couldn't be bothered with the formalities of making love to Michael. As soon as Michael walked in the door, Ben would rip off Michael's clothes, press him hard up against the first surface he could find, and fuck him until they were both blind with orgasm. It would end with Ben burying his face in the damp locks of Michael's hair and inhaling deeply, almost as if he were taking the moment into himself through the mixed scent of shampoo, sweat, desire and exhaustion. He would then turn Michael around and kiss him tenderly on the mouth before gathering the smaller man into his arms, carrying him into the next room, and laying him gently on the bed. They would fall asleep with Ben's body covering Michael and Michael's limbs wrapped possessively around the larger man. There would never be a word exchanged between them on nights such as these when the sheer force of their need overwhelmed them and there was nothing to do but to become two purely physical beings trying desperately to become one with one another. Words weren't necessary, nor were they wanted on nights like these.
Back in the present, Ben reached his arms around Michael, placed his chin on the shoulder of Michael's still melting coat, and undid the buttons. He then slid it off the smaller man's shoulders and down his arms, stopping once he got to Michael's clenched fists. Then slowly, with gentle, silent prodding Ben got Michael to open his hands almost like a father with his child, reassuring him that he was safe here in the dark and that there were no boogie men waiting to get him.
Once Michael's hands were opened, he seemed to relax a little. His eyes remained closed, as if he were in a dream and too afraid to open them for fear the dream would turn to vapor. Michael heard his coat hit the floor with a sickening, wet thud, before it was kicked unceremoniously out of the way.
Underneath the coat, all Michael had been wearing was a very expensive Italian silk shirt and exquisitely tailored slacks. The shirt, however, was too damned thin for this kind of weather, especially with nothing over it but his coat, which now lay in a wet heap on the floor. But he hadn't thought about that when he'd made his escape from his mom's house. All he'd wanted was to get as far away from his parental unit as he possibly could. He had made a mad dash for the door, only grabbing his keys and his coat. He hadn't even thought about the cold until he was standing beneath Ben's window and the wind was making a mockery of his winter apparel.
He'd known from the beginning that he shouldn't have taken his mother up on her dinner invitation. But he was lonely, and he was angry at Ben for what he'd said to him earlier in the week. So he said yes. He loved his mother. It was just that he didn't like her always sticking her nose in his business. It was like no matter what he did or what he accomplished, she was always pushing for more. Being her son didn't seem to be enough at times, she wanted and expected more and sometimes Michael found it exhausting to deal with her.
But now all those memories, so vivid on the drive to Ben's, seemed to vanish like so much melted snow. All there was now was the dark and Ben's hands moving along his body with deliberate, meticulous, and orgasmic intent. He slowly undressed Michael, exposing his bare flesh to the warmth of his hands as they touched, caressed and lingered on every inch of Michael's slowly defrosting skin.
Michael was left alone for what seemed a lifetime while Ben walked into the bathroom to retrieve a towel. When he came back, Ben gently started drying the wet locks of Michael's raven black hair. Then the towel moved to his neck where he was massaged, then down to his shoulders where it lingered lovingly, then glided gracefully down his back, stopping momentarily when it reached the rounded slopes of his perfectly proportioned, and deliciously spankable ass.
Ben got on his knees and used his mouth to warm the rounded orbs of Michael's tight, creamy posterior. He kissed softly, then opened his mouth so that Michael could feel the heat coming from him. He smiled devilishly as he felt Michael shudder from head to toe. He repeated this ritual as he took off Michael's socks and shoes. Then Ben dried Michael's legs, rubbing them up and down and delving in between the thighs to play teasingly with Michael's balls and rapidly growing cock.
Ben dropped the towel and placed his hands on either side of Michael's slender waist, turning him slowly so that he was nearly smacked in the face by the protruding and engorged cock. Playfully Ben licked at the head, feeling Michael's knees buckle a little. Anticipation was a bitch and teasing was a motherfucker. He took the purple, mushroom shaped head into his mouth. Applying very little pressure, he rolled his tongue slowly over the entire surface, stopping every now and then to play with the slit. Then, in one swift motion, he enveloped Michael's cock, burying his face in the soft curling hairs at the base.
Michael let out a deep throaty moan, as he placed his hands on Ben's shoulders to balance himself. He felt dizzy, so he finally opened his eyes only to be confronted by one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen - Ben staring back up at him with his diamond blue- gray eyes, with Michael's cock gliding smoothly in and out of his mouth. Suddenly, Michael felt as if his whole body were on fire, being heated from the tiny, coal engine that was Ben's mouth. His body was bending, giving itself over to the mastery of Ben's oral talents. And yet he couldn't stop his forward progress. His hands slid down his lover's back. His fingers spread with the winged grace of an eagle until they reached Ben's waistband. Then he knotted his hands into the material covering Ben and pulled it slowly up his back.
Ben had to distance himself from Michael in order for the shirt to go over his head. They both made audible groans at the separation. Slowly, Michael knelt down until he was face to face with Ben. Ben raised his hands and slid his fingers through the still damp black locks of Michael's hair and pulled in him for a kiss. He started shallow, kissing only the top of Michael's lip, licking along the rim of it, caressing it with his tongue. Then he moved to the bottom lip playfully sucking and biting on it until Michael could stand no more and he pulled Ben closer and kissed him tenderly, but deeply - so deeply Ben could feel it in every cell of his body. He could feel all the baby fine hairs on the surface of his skin stand intoxicatingly on end as Michael's tongue slid, danced, caressed and made love to his.
His hands were light, water-soft, fluid and everywhere. He moved them from Michael's back to his neck, and then to his chest, playing with the nipples momentarily then moving on. Ben's hands had now become like liquid heat on his skin, warming him through to the very marrow of his bones. Michael closed his eyes and melted into the kiss, all there was in the world at this moment was Ben's mouth and his hands. All he wanted to do was taste that tongue forever. Feel it glide over his, dance with his and surrender to his as it demanded of his and him. All his life there had been this desperate need, this haunting void into which he poured himself anew every morning when he woke up, the one he'd gotten so accustomed to had now been vanquished to the dreaded abyss from whence all fear and self- loathing came. All of this because Ben loved him, Ben wanted him, Ben needed him. It was like breath in lungs, a breeze on an oppressively hot day, water when the throat felt like the hottest dessert sand cooked by the sun and cracking.
Ben leaned back pulling, Michael down on top of him as he did so, their mouths never disconnecting. They lay on the floor, their hands moving with the slow grace of icebergs over each other's bare chest. Then Michael sat up and straddled Ben running his hands up and down the length of Ben's chiseled torso. He savored the feel of Ben's rough jeans between his thighs and pressing against his ass. He could also feel the volcanic heat emanating from Ben's imprisoned penis and it made him smile. Ben reached up to bring himself up off the carpet and buried his face in Michael's chest. His mouth made a feast of the creamy skin and the hardened nipples that greeted his hungry mouth.
Michael slowly started rocking, his hips in a provocative way, simulating his actual sexual movements when in this position. Ben started to groan softly. When Michael's head fell back, on pure instinct, Ben moved his head upward and made yet another feast of the soft delicate skin of Michael's wonderfully sensuous neck. Michael moved his hands between them, breaking the seal of their heaving torsos. He skillfully opened Ben's belt, then he slid his hand inside and gently released Ben's throbbing cock from its imprisonment. Ben let out a loud moan when his cock had been freed from its denim hell. He felt himself rise up a little when Michael started stroking him mercilessly and slowly. The heat and friction from his lover's hand was sending tiny electric shocks through his system, causing him to shudder slightly.
With another one of his feline movements, Ben had Michael beneath him and was struggling to get out of his jeans. When he was finally free of them, he pressed himself almost inhumanly close to Michael. Every inch of his body was in someway now connecting to every inch of Michael's body and it was driving him insane - and yet he remained patient. He drank in this moment as if it were a fine wine, savoring the taste as it glided like liquid gold down his throat.
Ben had always told Michael he was beautiful, but he had been wrong. Michael transcended mere mortal beauty. Right now, laying in Ben's arms with his hair spread out like a halo around his head, Michael was luminescent. There was a glow about him Ben couldn't explain. Maybe this sudden clarity came from the knowledge that, for the first time, Ben knew Michael was his. He knew Michael would stay. He knew they would never be parted; even death held no sway over them.
Michael arched his back, demonstrating his need for Ben, and he complied. He lowered his head and kissed him again. This time the need was magnified by a silent acknowledgement and an invisible promise - a pact made in shared misery, pain, tears and love. Ben reached over, rummaged in the drawer of the living room table, and retrieved a condom and lube.
Michael lifted his legs to accommodate his lover as Ben generously applied the lube to both of them. Then there was the painful sting that comes from penetration, anticipation, and the sweet humbling friction that followed. It felt so good to be inside of Michael, knowing as he did now that he had him utterly. No longer would Michael's attention be split because Ben was now Michael's priority.
Bending down again, Ben devoured his lover's mouth. His heart pounded thunderously in his ears. Their bodies moved in unison, pumping furiously now. The need for one another was now so palpable as to make its presence known throughout the rest of the building. Their moans grew louder with each thrust, their bodies now dripping with sweat, sleek and smooth against one another. It was getting harder and harder for Ben and Michael to control the inevitable explosion. Suddenly, both men exploded in unison. Afterwards, they lay together in a heap of quivering flesh. Ben kissed the side of Michael's face and down to his neck before burying his face in the damp locks of Michael's hair. Michael then wrapped his arms and legs around his lover, and this is how they fell asleep - in the living room, on the floor, wet, sticky, and unabashedly satisfied.