Snowstorms

They had emerged blinking into the crepuscular twilight after nearly six hours in the theater. Seeing the three Scream movies back to back had not been Mik's idea of a good time, but he had come to realize that if he refused to come along, he would later regret it. Cya would come back bursting with stories of the day, of things done and said, laughing. The Russian had a suspicion that he had never made Cyanide laugh like that. So he came. To keep current with life and to escape the over isolation that sometimes threatened to consume him entirely.

"Woah! It's snowing!"

Four sets of blurry eyes turned sky ward and sure enough the second to last stage of a snow storm, fat slow flakes, were already tumbling down. They eyes went to the sidewalk. There was easily two feet of snow on the ground. And they had walked here believing the weather forecast that the snow would hold out until midnight at least.

"Wanna cab it?" Harls started to ask.

"Snow fight!" Skids interrupted and promptly gathered up a handful of snow and threw it down the back of Harley's sweater.

"You are now going to die." The blonde informed his lover, shivering hard. He gathered a ball, but by the time he looked up Skids had slid behind a somewhat confused Cyanide. Harley laughed and throughout the snowball anyway. It caught Cya's shoulder and hit Skid's Square on the cheek.

About ten seconds later the sidewalk in front of the movie theater had exploded into an all out war of snow. Three twenty-three year old graduate students acting much like three year olds. The twenty-nine year old artist leaned against the building, attempting to distance himself from the chaos. Luckily, no one else had been stupid enough to go out with a storm brewing, so there were very few people to see the display of pure childishness.

As he watched, he could feel himself drift into a more analytical frame of mind. He watched his serious lover become totally ridiculous, rolling in the wet with Skids and Harls as if the three of them were puppies. Mik had never felt older. Weight of more years and harder situations hung from him and he couldn't shake it whenever he saw Cya with their new friends.

The idea that Cya would leave him for someone younger was not a new thought. Not that he thought of himself as ancient, but he knew that Cya still had some growing to do and he wasn't sure if their relationship had enough room in it for him to do that. They didn't even have that much in common....but yet.....that wasn't true at all. Obviously, they didn't have the same tastes in most things or even similar belief structures. But they thought the same way. They understood each other. They MADE room for each other because that was just what you did.

"Mik!" The scream jostled the Russian out of his train of thoughts. Just as his head snapped up to see what the problem was he registered three things all at once: One, he couldn't see out of one eye, two there was something extremely cold and wet dripping down face and three, Cyanide was laughing at him.

Without thought, he bent over scooped up snow, packed it and threw it with precision at his lover. He enjoyed the malicious thump it made as it splattered into the meticulously gelled hair and the stunned statement on the Latino's face, that gradually grew into a wicked grin. Then it was every man for himself.

When the smoke cleared and settled, all four men looked much like they had just marched through a blizzard for a minimum of seven hours. The cold started to settle into their bones. Shivering, Harley took refuge under Skids jacket and the two of them said their good-byes and headed for home. Cyanide flashed a smile at Mik before folding into himself for a slouch of epic proportions, one hand shoved deep into a jacket pocket and the bottom half of his face hidden by his jacket. The other hand seemed to have a mind of it's own. It crawled free of it's owners jacket and wandered over to Mik's. Cold slender finger worked their way under layers, landing at last at the small of the larger man's back staying there. Thin sticks of ice basking in soft skin warmth. Mik growled at the cold, but threw a companionable arm over Cya's shoulder, resisting the urge to pull his lover in tighter. The walk was brisk and they were both extremely grateful to reach home.

As soon as they hit the door, clothing was shed off in layers. Jackets went over the radiator, sweaters and pants were thrown in the rough direction of the hamper. Socks were pulled off into a soggy pile on the bathroom floor, underwear in a neat heap right in front of the shower. Naked and freezing, Mik flung the hot water on and stepped in, closely followed by and equally naked and freezing, Cya. Together they stood under the heated spray, playfully trying to push the other out of the way. Eventually the steam alone had warmed them up until their skin tingled with heat.

Without quite willing it, Mik turned off the shower and pulled back the curtain, letting the blast of cold waft over their skin. Cya shivered slightly, before picking his way out of the shower and plucking two thick towels from under the sink. They dried off in semi-silence, broken finally by Cyanide.

"I want you to meet my mom."

"What?"

"I don't know how she's going to react...."

Mik put a hand on Cya's bare shoulder.

"You're going to tell her?"

It had been an unspoken agreement between them that Cyanide would tell his family if and when he felt comfortable about it. On principle, Mik would have had a problem with waiting, but he had a strong feeling that Cya was working on it all the time and it was better not to push.

"Yeah." The younger man reached up to run his hands through the Russian's dark wet hair, spiking it up. "It's been in my head. I just don't..." He quirked a half-smile, in an ironic twist. " I don't want to do it alone, okay?"

The last bit of ice and worry melted from Mik's mind as he leaned down to kiss the worried look away. They stood wrapped together in the overwarmth of the steamed bathroom. They made it to the bed eventually. Mik covering his younger, sometimes frailer, partner with his body and they moved together to a rhythm older then language, finding new ways to express themselves.