***
Steve sat in the darkness of his bedroom, looking through the window at the light snow falling outside. Wearing only boxers, the soft white light from outside shone pale on his skin, and reflected in his dark eyes. He let his breathing slow, and felt his heartbeat slow to match. Though there was no life in the small square of the window, watching the flakes flutter against the glass gave him a sense of peace that felt strangely renewing. A random thought of adding yoga into his rehabilitation schedule floated through his mind and lingered a bit before he shrugged it off. The Christmas lights that adorned the house threw colorful patters onto the snow, making the frozen waste of the yard seem cheerful and bright.
“Maybe that’s the point of all the decoration,” Steve muttered to himself. “To have color and light where there isn’t any. To make the bleakness of winter seem a little more bearable.”
“That’s what poetry does to life,” said a soft voice behind him.
Steve turned on the bed to see that Boyd had come into the room. The light from the hallway shone about him, making him a tall silhouetted presence. He came closer without turning the lights on and flopped down on the other side of the bed. He sniffed.
Steve looked at him a little more closely. “Boyd, look at me.”
Boyd turned to face Steve. His eyes were slightly red, and they reflected the dim light of the room with a shiny, watery glint. He sniffed again.
“Dammit, Boyd,” said Steve. “Have you been reading that book again? I knew it was a mistake to buy it for you.”
“Sonnets from the Portuguese is a great work, Steve,” Boyd insisted. He scooted across the bed and enfolded Steve in a hug. “I can’t thank you enough for getting me a copy of my own.”
Steve smiled and hugged him back. “But they make you cry every time you read them. And you’ve read them every day since Christmas. You’ll be crying right into the new year.”
“I know,” said Boyd, and he laughed. “They’re so beautiful, though. They really are, you should read them sometime.”
Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, Boyd, I’m not really a big fan of poetry. I don’t have the patience to sit and read it. It’s just not my thing, I guess.”
Boyd shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Steve laughed. “Why don’t you instruct me then, oh wise one?” His voice as he addressed the younger man was lovingly mocking.
“Sure,” Boyd flashed back. He leaned in and kissed Steve deeply, then bounded off the bed and struck a dramatic pose. Steve shook his head at the energy that seemed to flow through Boyd at any given moment, and was vaguely envious. It would really help his knee recover if he had that kind of energy all the time. But Boyd’s energy went along with his youth, and there were times when it came in very handy to Steve. Usually those times were during a night’s second or third round of sex.
“‘How do I love thee?’” Boyd began. “‘Let me count the ways.’”
“Oh, no,” Steve groaned. “THAT one is in there? The one from the Warner Brothers cartoons? The one from Who Killed Roger fucking Rabbit?”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” said Boyd. “And that’s only the beginning of the poem. Have you ever heard the rest?”
“Well…”
“I didn’t think so. Can I continue now?”
“Please do.” Steve grinned. “I wouldn’t want you to beat me up, or anything.”
Boyd looked Steve in the eye, his face solemn and beautiful. “‘I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of Being and ideal Grace.’”
Steve’s face lost its grin as he allowed the full weight of Boyd’s gaze to fall upon him. Boyd pulled his shirt over his head and dropped on the floor beside his bare feet. He slid his sweat pants down and stepped out of them. Steve was amused to see that, as per usual when the two of them spent the day at home alone, Boyd wasn’t wearing any underwear. While he waited for the now-naked man to join him in bed, Steve admired the smooth flex of Boyd’s muscles as they moved beneath his flawless skin. Lust tingled in Steve’s stomach and went lower. Apparently Boyd was having similar sensations, as he was already half-hard by the time he got into bed. He moved beneath the sheets, beckoning for Steve to join him.
“‘I love thee to the level of everyday’s quiet need,’” Boyd continued, as Steve slid beneath the sheets and pulled him close. Boyd’s cock pressed against Steve’s leg, his not-so-quiet need evident. Steve moaned, his own cock tightening in response. “‘…by sun and candle-light.’”
They kissed each other and rolled over, Steve shivering with desire as Boyd let his weight settle on top of him. Boyd bit Steve’s lower lip gently and broke the kiss. He pulled at the waistband of Steve’s boxers, and Steve lifted up to allow him to slide them off. Steve hazily looked up at his panting lover and marveled at how far he’d come. Barely able to string a sentence together the first time they’d met, he was now spouting poetry as he took control in bed.
“‘I love thee freely, as men strive for Right,’” Boyd said as he pulled the boxers from Steve and threw them on the floor.
He slid back up to cover Steve’s naked body with his own again. He moaned as the hardness of their cocks rubbed together. “‘I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.’”
They kissed, Boyd whimpering softly as Steve’s hands played over his chest and nipples. “‘I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs,’” Boyd muttered, inches away from Steve’s lips. He met Steve’s gaze with eyes that held lust tempered by another, deeper emotion. “‘…and with my childhood’s faith.’”
He moved his hand down, still not moving his gaze, and began to stroke Steve’s erection slowly and evenly. Steve cried out softly at the feeling of his hand. He closed his eyes and reached for Boyd’s cock.
“‘I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints-’” Boyd’s voice came out with difficulty as Steve increased the speed of his strokes. Boyd quickened his pace to match. He gently squeezed Steve’s balls.
Stars burst behind Steve’s eyelids as the tingling pressure building deep in his groin was released. Hot liquid filled the space against which their bodies slid. Boyd’s breath was coming in gasps as Steve pulled his rigid cock a few more times.
“I love thee!” Boyd cried out, shuddering as he spurted in Steve’s hand. He thrust against his slick grip once or twice before sinking down to lie against him. Boyd wearily lifted his head and kissed Steve’s forehead. Steve lay with a smile on his face, spent and tired and happy. Boyd smiled back gently and kissed his lips.
“‘I love thee,’” he said quietly. “‘…with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life.’” He laid his head down into Steve’s neck and closed his eyes. The sound of Steve’s heartbeat pulsing through his throat filled his consciousness, rapid at first but then slowing down as Steve’s breathing deepened. Boyd smiled and murmured:
“‘And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.’”
Steve smiled at the dark head lying against his neck. He ran his left hand through Boyd’s hair and looked toward the window. The snow had stopped falling, and a quiet stillness filled the world outside. The colorful lights reflecting off the glittering snow seemed muted, though still beautiful in the thoughtful night. He thought back to what Boyd had said when he first stepped into the room, about how what holiday decorations were to winter, poetry was to life. It occurred to him then that Boyd looked on the world with very clear eyes, and perceived much that was often missed by others, even if he rarely said so. Steve leaned his cheek against Boyd’s head, and realized he was as happy as he’d ever been.
“That was a very beautiful poem,” he said. “Maybe you could read me some more later.”
“Okay,” answered Boyd sleepily.
“And I love you too,” Steve whispered. “In all of those ways, and more.”
Boyd made a soft sound in his throat in response. His energy burned out to a low heat for the moment, he quickly fell asleep. Steve blinked a few times with smiling eyes at the pale light of the window, before finally letting his eyes close on the world that slept as quietly as they, awaiting the dawn of a new year.
***
