#winter fills

He turns, smiling at the man in black who he knew would come. Special Agent Joseph Stern, golden boy of the Bureau of Super Oversight and Barclay’s nemesis for the last two years.

“Hey Agent. Kinda figured it would just be me and you today.”

“For all you know I have back-up just on the other side of that hill.”

“You could, but you don’t. Told me last year you’re one of the only ‘heroes’ who works Christmas.”

Joseph looks annoyed, but his face quickly regains its neutral expression, “Regardless, we both know that doing this is just going to add to the list of reasons why I have to bring you in. This ends today.”

“Chill out, it’s a future ski resort, not an orphanage. Not like Leeshon would open one of those.”

“We both know he has.”

“We both also know what that turned out to be a front for, so save it and either help me wreck these things or get off my ass.” He turns away, fully expecting the sound of feet on snow as the agent makes the first move. Sad as it is, he looks forward to their fights; it’s as close as he gets to dancing these days. 

The bullet whistling past his ear is alarming enough that he shifts on instinct, fur on his Bigfoot form bristling as he whirls and snarls, “What the fuck, Stern?”

The agent reloads, points his weapon at Barclay’s chest, “I said this ends today. I meant it.”

“What the hell, you’ve never pointed a gun at me when I was doing shit way worse than this!”

“I don’t have a choice.” Stern’s face is calm, steel replacing the usual cornflower blue of his eyes. Barclay may as well be staring down a stranger. 

A groaning, rumbling noise from the slopes above him, one he’s certain Joseph’s human ears can’t detect. 

“If you fire again, there’s a really, really good chance it’s gonna set off a fucking avalanche. Which might kill me, but would also kill you in the process which would kinda spoil the victory.”

Joseph studies him; he’ll do this sometimes, pause a fight or an argument to see if Barclay’s bluffing, and Barclay’s always secretly admired the fact he never lets his emotions run away with him. 

The agent’s finger starts to pull the trigger.

“Joseph, don’t-”

The shot bounces off his suit, but the damage is done. A roaring, whooshing wave of white descends towards them and Barclay runs, grabbing Joseph’s arm as he passes him and dragging him into a sprint at his side.

“Let go!” Joseph whacks his hand hard enough to make him obey, “we’re not on the same side!”

“Yes we are! We are on the side of not dying under a thousand fucking tons of-” He skids to a stop, pivoting right before his momentum takes them over a hundred foot drop, and runs until he finds the safer, downhill slope. Joseph stays on him the whole time.

“If it hits us, I won’t have to fucking worry about you anymore!”

The sentence, screamed over the rushing snow, is the last thing he hears as they lose their race with nature. Tumbling, blind and half-smothered in the cold, doesn’t hurt nearly as much. 

When his body finally stops being tossed like a sock in the laundry, he finds himself on his back with a mercifully thin layer of snow above him. He digs out into a blanketed world, trees at odd angles and ice in his fur. 

There’s no sign of Joseph. 

He could leave him. No one would blame him, not after Joseph tried to kill him. 

Barclay kneels in the snow, rests his ear against the ground. Tells himself this is to square them up after Catalina, where Joseph was the only reason he didn’t drown. 

A faint, rasping breath, about a hundred yards to his left gives him his heading and he hurries to the spot, digging at the snow until Joseph’s pale, unconscious body is in view. There’s blood on his arm, something he hit in the descent must have ripped through all his layers. 

Bureau agents have distress signals on them. It wouldn’t take Barclay long to find his and call the organization to him. But something tells him they’ve had Joseph for too long. 

He scoops the limp body from the snow and punches the code into his wrist guard to summon his ride home. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Gotta say, you’re a lot wilier than the other agents they’ve sent.”

“I was assigned specifically to you from here on out. I studied your combat techniques in depth.” Joseph is remarkably calm for someone currently being hoisted above the head of an eight foot tall monster. 

“So you’re my special agent.” Barclay looks up at him, then snickers, “are those UFOs on your tie?”

“It’s my lucky one.”

“Not sure that’s working out so great.” Barclay’s about to throw him when a high-pitched noise makes him yelp. He drops the agent in order to cover his ears. 

“I’d say it’s working well so far.” Joseph clicks a button on his watch, “I’m surprised no one hit on sonar attacks for you before.”

“Guess they weren’t as sharp as you, pretty boy.” Barclay grins right before tackling him. 

Barclay bounces his legs as he sits in the chair and watches Joseph sleep in his bed. He should have seen this coming. There was a sharp decline in the agent’s interest in banter, in the times he laughed at something Barclay was certain he found funny. He stopped wearing his nerdy ties. No more aliens or bigfoot, no lake monsters or hodags (a creature Barclay found puzzling enough that he stopped the fight and made Joseph explain), just black, black, and more black. 

The agent is stable and escaped the avalanche without a concussion, so Barclay leaves him to rest, crossing into the next room of his cabin and turning on his com system. There’s no response from Dani, but she’s probably out with family. Mama is off in the woods with Thacker. But he has one ally who might just be at home with nothing to do.

He hits the call button and after a moment Indrid, AKA Emperor Moth, appears on screen, red glasses reflecting a string of lights. He’s in a brown and white cable knit sweater, silver hair clearly brushed and pulled half back from his face. 

Before Barclay can ask if he’s interrupting, his friend sighs, “Oh dear, so we are in this timeline.”

“I swear, if you knew I was gonna be in an avalanche and didn’t tell me-”

“Nono, that future did not emerge until the exact instant it happened. Agent Stern decided against literally all odds to fire his weapon that second time.” His friend lowers his voice, “you were right to bring him with you. Had his superiors found him there is a good chance you would never have seen him again. Demoted and reassigned to a position that is functionally cannon fodder.”

“Fuck” Barclay looks back at the bedroom, “then what am I supposed to do with him? He can’t live here!”

“Why not? There have been far stranger arrangements–oh, oh dear, you had better go check on him.”

There’s a crash from the bedroom and Barclay dashes in to find Joseph thrashing against the cuffs he used to secure him to the bed. His black hair is plastered across his forehead and he’s so busy trying to leverage his weight to snap them that he doesn’t notice Barclay until he speaks. 

“Woah, woah, easy agent, if you keep doing that you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He tries to offer a comforting hand on the shoulder only for a long leg to catch him in the stomach.

“Stay. there.” Joseph growls, “where are we?”

“My cabin.”

Blue eyes lock onto him, “So you’ve finally decided to kill me.”

“What? No! No, bringing you to my house and hideout is not me saying I’m going to kill you, it’s me trying to prevent you from dying.” He hazards a step closer, “Joseph, please, even if you’re my nemesis, you know me. You have to know I don’t just see you as some, some disposable obstacle to obliterate. I can tell something is wrong so please just” he brushes the dark strands back into place, “just let me help you.”

The agent takes a deep breath and meets his eyes, “If you ever cared about me, even a little bit, you will kill me right now.”

Barclay pulls his hand back, turning away as tears well up in his eyes, “Do you really think I’m that much of a monster?”

“You’re a villain. What’s one more crime?” His voice is so flat Barclay longs for the panic and anger of a moment before. 

“I’m done hurting you, Joseph. If, if that doesn’t square with whatever weird version of me you made in your head, then that’s your fucking problem to deal with.” He storms out of the room, feeling more over his head than he was when they got here. 

Tea usually helps, so he heats the kettle and pours a mug for himself and for Stern. The hum of a car outside draws his attention to the door, and a glance at his security feed tells him it’s Indrid in a black car he knows doesn’t belong to him. 

He opens the front door, “Okay, why the fuck are you in Ursa Majors car?”

“Because I drove.” A voice drawls.

Barclay cracks the door wider to reveal an unmasked Duck Newton dangling a key from his finger. 

“We were, ah, attending the same function.” Indrid brushes snow off his sweater, “but the futures suggested I would be needed here. Where is he?”

Barclay walks them to the bedroom. Joseph’s eyes are closed and he’s mouthing words Barclay can’t understand. It’s Duck’s footfalls that cause him to look at the door and glare at Indrid. 

“I see. You don’t want to kill me, so you’ve brought in someone who will.”

“There is no need for such dramatics.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Hush, Ursine one.” Indrid approaches the bed, “I am here because Barclay is my friend.”

“Here to do what?”

“That depends entirely on how you choose to comport yourself.” 

Barclay offers Joseph the mug, “This’ll help warm you up after we spent all that time in the snow.”

Joseph takes it, looks down, and then Barclay is being yanked backwards by Indrid as scalding water splashes onto his shoes. 

“What the fuck?” It’s Duck who exclaims this time.

“Well we can’t all fuck our villains!”

“I’m not! And that ain’t what I meant. Even if that’d worked, you still woulda been tied up with two other people in the room. It’s a sloppy play and you don’t usually make those so what gives?”

The agent takes a deep breath, lets it out over six seconds, “Either let me go, or kill me. But if you make me stay here it’ll be worse than torture. Do you understand, Barclay? I can’t live like this, I can’t, I can’t.” His chest rises in panicky breaths and he’s getting the same look he did the moment he pulled the trigger. 

Wordlessly, Indrid steps to the edge of the bed and sticks a small, silvery dot onto Joseph’s neck. There’s a faint buzz and then the agent goes limp.

“He’s just unconscious, do not worry. We have two hours before he wakes up again.” He waves Barclay over to join him, tips Joseph’s head to the side, “do you see this little bump? It’s an ID chip. If I know my tech, which I do, it is also interfering with his body's natural processes. If this is sent to the Bureau, they will take it as a sign he’s dead.”

“Then I vote we get it out.” Barclay murmurs. 

“There is another complication. I foresee that he also has a…a self-destruct button implanted on him. Near his heart.”

“Fuckin what?”

“The Bureau tried to lure me over with promises of wiping my record if I helped them develop such a thing. I declined, but it seems someone else did not. Odds are high they will detonate it to be safe.”

“Can you get it out?” Barclay wants to be sick. That or he wants to hold Joseph to him and keep anyone from touching him ever again.

“I remove both, yes. We will need to take him to your workshop and I will need some supplies from your med bay.” He glances at Duck, “you do not need to stay. I do not wish to keep you from the party.”

“This is more important.” Duck holds the doors as they move to the workshop. As Indrid sets about his task, Barclay retreats to the kitchen to pace. 

“I didn’t realize he’d gotten so bad.” Duck leans against the doorway, “he seemed a little, uh, terser the last few times he did a spot check on us but…but I ain’t ever heard him talk like that. Bettin’ the Bureau was putting some kind of pressure on him.”

“He tried to kill me today.”

“Jesus, really?”

Barclay tells him the whole story. When he’s done, he looks balefully towards the workshop, “I hate doing this to him. It doesn’t feel right, taking the stuff out without asking but…but I also don’t want them to kill him. Or use his location to kill me.”

“Don’t think I gotta tell you that the right choice ain’t always a matter of black and white.” Duck pats his shoulder, “though that chip fuckin with his body is probably why his stomach can growl that bad and he don’t notice.”

“Okay so it WAS that loud.” He turns as Indrid pads into the room. 

“It’s done. I am very glad for my powers for many reasons, but currently it is because they are the only way I got that blasted self-destruct chip out without blowing him and myself up. So” he claps his hands together, “who can help me move him to the bedroom?”

Once Joseph is safely tucked in bed, Indrid writes out instructions and sends the ID chip off in the right direction. As he opens the car door for Indrid, Duck tells Barclay to add him to the list of people to call for help with Joseph. Barclay says he will and waves as they drive off. Then he heads inside to take up his post by the bed.

—-----------------------------------------

“You did what?” Joseph’s whole body hurts and his headache is not helped by what Barclay just revealed. 

“We sent your ID chip to your boss.”

“Do you realize what that means? You just tendered my fucking resignation for me! Without asking me!”

Barclay points at the bandage on his chest, “Hey, how about a thank you for also taking out the fucking thing they could use to blow you up?”

“The…” his heart goes colder than the blizzard kicking up outside, “the what?”

Barclay explains about what Indrid Cold found, and without meaning to Joseph draws his knees up to his chest.

“They never told me that. They, they started pushing for more techno-augmentations about six months ago. Saying that they’d improve our performance, help us achieve greater things. I held out for a long time. I just, I wasn’t comfortable with that kind of device in my body but…eventually they made it clear that refusing them meant I wasn’t taking my role seriously.” He shudders, “there were a few things I let them put in that they never took out. But no matter what I agreed to it was never enough. It was like I wasn’t a good enough agent without the chips, but I wasn’t much better with them.”

“Bullshit. You’re a better agent than anyone I’ve ever met. Hell, you blow doors on some honest to god superheroes.” Claws and fangs are peeking through Barclay’s human shape. 

Joseph twists the blankets with his hands, which are now cuffed in front of him, “They told me that my failure to bring you in was proof I was slipping as an agent. And that if I couldn’t terminate you, they’d demote me. Which meant less protection for everyone in my life, including my family, and you’re not the only villain I’ve pissed off and some of them aren’t as…thoughtful as you.”

“And if they think you’re dead?”

“My sister gets my pension to help pay for my niece’s college. And my family remains protected. So I guess you did do me a favor there.”

Barclay nods, but his big, brown eyes are teary when he looks at Joseph and says softly, “Did you really want to kill me?”

The words stick in his throat, years of tamping down the truth making a web they can’t escape. 

He shakes his head. Barclay sags with relief. 

“If I take the cuffs off, will you try to hurt yourself?”

Another shake; there’d be no point.

Barclay reaches forward and gingerly removes them with a touch of his thumb. When they hit the bed, the truth collides with him; he’s not an agent anymore. Barclay isn’t his nemesis. He isn’t really even a prisoner. 

He never made a plan for this. It was never supposed to end this way, with failure and disillusionment. 

“Do you need anything?”

Joseph looks at his former enemy, “I’d like to be alone for a little while.”

Barclay nods, promising that he’s just in the next room if Joseph needs him. 

He rolls onto his less injured side, body registering sensations that the ID chip had dulled for months. Anger rushes ahead of all of them, welling up in him as he thinks of the years and years of work he threw away just to end up not good enough as he was, to end up accepting modifications that made him a man he didn’t want to be. If he’d aimed right, if Barclay’s suit were lower quality, today he’d have become a man he didn’t recognize. 

He hugs himself, clinging to the aching, exhausted, free man he nearly lost. Crying feels right, but when he lets that emotion come forward his body doesn’t respond and his eyes stay dry. He hides them in his hands and shakes all the same. 

It’s well after midnight when Barclay pokes his head through the door.

“Are you hungry? I’m gonna reheat some chicken posole I made, if you want.”

“Please.” He groans as his stomach tries to eat itself. Christ, when was the last time he had a real meal. 

He still doesn’t have an answer when Barclay nudges the door wider and steps in with a tray bearing two bowls. 

Joseph takes a bite, spice and warmth flooding down his body, and then stares at the soup. 

“Uh, does it taste okay?”

“I’m trying to work out a) how much damage it’d do to pour it all into my mouth at once and b)whether that’d be worth it.”

Barclay chuckles, smiling at him, “There you are.”

He opts to eat the soup at a normal pace, asking Barclay about the items in his room between bites (Joseph finds the framed photo of the Patterson-Gimlin footage that someone wrote “mom????” across particularly funny). When dinner is over, Barclay reassures him that he’s fine on the couch, and that if Joseph starts to feel worse he should come wake him up. 

Joseph promises he will. Then he passes out and sleeps for forty-eight hours straight.

—-------------------------------------------------------

“Please let me clean your kitchen” 

Barclay looks up from the cookbook he’s reading on the couch, “Is it that bad?”

“No, it’s clearly well organized and tidy, but if I don’t have something to do I’m going to start chewing on the furniture.” Joseph hopes his pleading stare is pathetic enough to sway Barclay.

“...I’ve got a steam cleaner that’s really satisfying to use on the hardwood.”

“Yes”

A deep, comforting laugh, “Lemme go get it.”

It’s been a week since the avalanche, though Joseph has only been off of bed rest for the last three days. Barclay’s library is excellent–he and Joseph have lots of series in common–but having tasks helps Joseph feel less like he’s just a lump laying in bed. 

Six days ago, there was a smaller, mini avalanche from the location where Barclay buried the self-destruct chip, continuing the fiction from Indrid’s message that Joseph had been killed in the avalanche. At a guess, it’s so that no one else could scavenge the tech from his corpse. 

He’d felt like shit after learning all this, but it turns out that napping on top of Bigfoot is a fantastic remedy for learning just how expendable you are. 

After his adventure with the steam cleaner, their days take on a pattern: Barclay will wake up and make breakfast, and Joseph will do his best to roll his still-tired  join him before Barclay has to leave for his day job as a cook. Joseph then cleans the house, reads, and generally does all the things he stopped having time for the longer he was an agent (they’ve settled on not discussing heroism or villainy for the time being, which suits him fine). Then he’ll make dinner so that Barclay has a break from cooking, and they’ll eat and watch T.V on the couch or read by the impressively efficient fireplace in the main cabin. 

It’s not always easy; the loss of his job, of everything he sacrificed for, sometimes weighs so heavily on him that he sits down and doesn’t get up for hours. If he were living alone, he’s not sure he could manage it. But being with Barclay means he’s seldom without a tall, handsome, comforting presence to tell him how great he is. 

Two weeks in, his body is mostly back to normal. With one, glaring exception. 

“You can’t cry?” Barclay pours coffee from the french press into Joseph’s cup and then his own. It’s Sunday, Barclay’s day off, and instead of going out and being a super villain he’s been electing to spend them having leisurely breakfasts with Joseph. 

“No. It’s like the physiological response isn’t working.  Maybe it’s silly to be so bothered by it but it just makes me feel…broken. Like they were stealing my emotions from me and I might never get them all back.”

Barclay tips just the right amount of cream into Joseph’s coffee, “Do you think you could, like, trick it into happening? By exposing yourself to something that you know for sure will make you cry?”

“I thought about it. The problem is, even before all the modifications, I had a lot of training in not showing emotion or cracking under stress, so it’s been a long time since I really cried. Except…well, except for an instance of happy tears.”

“We could try that. What made them happen?” Barclay is so earnestly trying to help that Joseph wants to kiss him. Sweet guy, he’s probably assuming something like being climbed on by a puppy or viewing the Grand Canyon will be the answer. 

“It was, um, it was during masturbation. Not to be graphic, but I overstimulated myself to the point of tears.” He smiles at the memory, “I slept like the dead, it was amazing.”

Barclay fiddles with a woven bracelet on his wrist, “We could do that. If you want.”

Joseph turns, cupping Barclay’s face and running his thumbs along his beard, “You’ve done more than enough to help me, big guy. You don’t need to do that, too.”

“Not even if I want to?”

“Really?”

Barclay turns his face to kiss Josephs’ palm, “Yeah. Really.”

Joseph leans in, bringing their lips together. The kiss has been a long time coming, he knows that now, knows that every time he went home after a mission and dreamed about Barclay breaking in and holding him down he was really craving this, these heated, hungry touches and tender kisses that remind him he’s more than his triumphs and failures.

Barclay nips his lower lip, “C’mon pretty boy, I’ve got an idea.”

He follows the cook into the bedroom, shedding his sweater and sweatpants as snow clumps against the windows. 

“Leave the underwear on, undershirt too.” Barclay rifles through a box by the bed as Joseph lays down and stretches with a sigh. Strong hands roll him onto his stomach and he laughs as Barclay bounces onto the bed.

“I’m gonna stay human this time, okay? You’re not all the way recovered and I don’t want to accidentally, like, wrench your leg or your back or something.”

“You’re very thoughtful, big guyOH, oh” he laughs into the pillow as a beard tickles his lower back, Barclay pulling his boxer briefs down and kissing each new, exposed inch of skin.  There’s a love bite to each side of his ass and then the pop of a bottle of lube. 

Barclay works a finger in carefully, keeping his weight on the bed rather than on Joseph, which he appreciates. His fingers are so thick that by the time he’s worked in a second one Joseph is grinding on the bed, savoring how full he already feels. 

“That’s it babe, get into it. All you gotta worry about today is feeling good.” Barclay kisses the scar on the back of his neck, “gonna take such good care of you, even if you’re a fucking crying mess by the time I’m done.”

“Fuck”

“Oh you like that?” Barclay chuckles, fingerfucking him harder as he rubs off on the bed, “my special agent wants to be at the mercy of his villain, is that it?”

“Yes, fuckyes.” He gasps, startled at the orgasm already circling his belly. He spreads his legs wider, hoping Barclay will get the hint, but the cook just laughs. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of that soon. But you’re gonna cum for me like this first.”

Joseph moans, bucking his hips as his boxers add just the right amount of friction to his dick, and cums with prolonged moan. 

“Christ, I needed that.”

“I can tell.” Barclay kisses his shoulder, “but you’re not done. Let’s just keep you nice and loose” he slides cool silicone into Joseph’s ass, then does the same to his hole a moment later, “you ever used one of these babe? They vibrate and thrust all on their own”

“Ohfuck” Joseph’s whole body tenses as Barclay turns the toys on and pulls his underwear back up to keep them in place. That second step is how he learns the one at the front is a rabbit vibrator, it’s shorter arm pressed against his already sensitive dick.

“I’m gonna go do the dishes. You wanna pick out a show to watch?”

“S-sure.” 

Barclay helps him up, clearly pleased with himself as he guides him back out to the living room. Joseph tries several positions before laying on his side in hopes of keeping the stimulation from getting too intense. He settles on a holiday baking show and is creeping towards his second orgasm as Barclay nestles onto the couch behind him, propping a pillow under their heads as he spoons him. 

“Comfy?”

“Given the circumstances, yes.”

“You need me to stop the whole thing?” Barclay gently strokes his hair. 

“N-no. I’ll, I’ll say red if I need to stop.” He blushes, “it’s nice to be able to complain sometimes.”

“I hear you.” Barclay cuddles up as Joseph cums with a whimper, kissing his ear before turning up the T.V. 

Joseph squirms, trying to shift the vibrations off his dick, only for a big hand to cup the toy and start actively grinding it against him.

“Doesn’t stop until you cry.” Barclay rumbles in his ear.

“Shit, shit” Joseph’s legs kick as the aftershocks of his second orgasm morph into the buildup for a third, “Barclay, yes, please”

“Don’t worry pretty boy, I treat my prisoners well.”

“Fuck!” Joseph gasps, cumming as Barclay bites his ear. 

“God I love seeing you like this. Love seeing my perfect, put together agent come apart.” 

He whimpers, rolling onto his other side to hide his face in Barclay’s chest. It feels right, like Barclay is becoming his whole world as his mind zeros in on the singular goal of be good for him. 

By the time orgasm number four is wrung out of him, he’s clinging to the front of Barclay’s shirt and his dirty talk is getting very repetitive. Barclay doesn’t mind a bit, kissing him sweetly before rolling him back over to rub his sweatpants covered cock against his ass. 

“Fuck, this is fun. It’s like you’re two sex toys in one.”

“Ohgod.” His voice catches in his throat. 

“That’s what you are now, pretty boy.”

“Yes, yesyesplease.”

“Fuck it.” Barclay flips him onto his back and rips off his underwear. The front vibrator is tossed to the floor, though the one in his ass remains tormenting him as Barclay shoves his pants down and tucks his waistband under his balls. Then he’s on him, as deep in as he can go and Joseph sobs, relief and joy and anger bubbling up and spilling down his cheeks. 

“Yeah, that’s it babe, take it, fucking take it, fuck, every time you fucked up one of my plans I wanted to do this, shove you on my cock until learned where you fucking belonged.”

He clings to him, hooking his ankles around his legs. He might be begging between his tears, he can’t really tell and he doesn’t really clear, all he wants is Barclay, to be good for Barclay, to wanted by him this intensely for the rest of his life.

When he cums this time it actually drips down Barclay’s cock. 

“Fuck that’s gratifying.” Barclay’s dick thuds into him twice more and then the cook pulls out, stroking himself three times before cumming across Joseph’s face and shirt. He smears his fingers through the drops on his cheeks, pushing them between Joseph’s lips, “there we go, that’s how a special agent behaves. Cleaning up a villains’ cum like the needy, pretty boy he is.”

Joseph moans, manages a weak kiss to Barclay’s hand as it pulls away.  The cook looks around, looking a little chagrined as he wipes his hands on a ripped piece of Joseph’s underwear.  Then he’s straddling Joseph carefully, bending down to kiss the remaining tears from his cheeks. 

“Did that help?”

Joseph caresses the face of his lover, his partner, his hero. 

“I thought about asking you to come, but I know how busy you are with work.”

“Most of mine can be done from a laptop, and I’d be happy to come help you out, even if it’s only for some of the time.”

She shakes her head, “Apparently Snowfall Springs is in the National Radio Quiet Zone; no phone signals, and all the internet is, um, ethernet.”

“Oh.” Joseph manages a smile, “well, in that case, I guess we romance each other the old fashioned way. On landlines.”

Melanie nods, but her nose is quirking the way it always does when she thinks he got too corny. He knows she’s into Joseph Stern, former special agent, suave and confident and battle-scarred. But Joseph Stern, aspiring writer and cryptozoology fanatic who cleans his kitchen to decompress does not seem to rate as highly. 

When she kisses him goodnight and heads to her car, she promises she’ll call him tomorrow once she reaches Snowfall Springs. Joseph tells himself it’ll be fine. Life isn’t a movie. People don’t undergo a series of holiday hi-jinks and then fall in love with some guy who wears flannel because the boyfriend they left at home is a prissy workaholic who doesn’t understand the true magic of Christmas. 

(She doesn’t understand why he doesn’t have a Christmas tree. After all, a friend of hers growing up had one even though she was Jewish, why can’t he?)

Melanie calls him the next afternoon to say the house by the farm is in disrepair and she’ll be staying at the neighboring mint farm for most of her stay, which happens to be the home of the guy who spilled his hot drink on her this morning. 

Joseph hangs up the phone, types out a message to work, and pulls his ergonomic suitcase out of the closet. 

Snowfall Springs is only an hour and a half away, but being tucked away in the mountains means a lot of curving roads that have to be carefully navigated. As the wipers whack the snow from the windshield, Joseph reassures himself that this is the right thing to do, not because he’s about to get dumped, but because his girlfriend has just learned this project is going to be even bigger and more stressful than anticipated and he should be there to support her. 

When his headlights hit the sign for Excitemint Farms, he turns up short, country road and pulls in front of a house decorated in enough Christmas lights to be seen from space. His knock summons an older woman in a nativity sweater.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Melanie? She said she was staying here when she called. Unless this is the wrong mint farm, in which case I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Joseph?” his girlfriend appears in the doorway, smiling, “ohmygod, what are you doing here?”

“I came to help out. From the sound of it your great-aunt’s place is in serious disrepair, and I thought if nothing else I could make sure you’ve got coffee while you sort it out or deal with any extra-obtuse paperwork for contractors.”

“Oh. That’s really sweet of you.” She leans out the door and pecks him on the cheek, which would be nice except he lost feeling in it two minutes ago. 

“C-could I come in? I only brought one bag” he turns his best special agent smile on the older woman, “and Melanie can confirm I’ll do any chore under the sun.”

His girlfriend shifts from foot to foot, “Um, there’s only one spare room and it’s not even a twin bed. I just don’t think you’d be comfy if we both squeezed in there. But there’s probably somewhere in town? Hank, where’s a good place to stay?”

“He could try Amnesty Lodge. It’s a little, uh, quirky, but lots of folks stay there.” Hank appears in the doorway. He’s a little shorter than Joseph, blonde with a face that screams all-american charm but is so standard issue that Joseph couldn’t pick him out of line-up. 

“Okay. I’ll try there. Thank you. Um, Melanie, give me a call at the Lodge when you know what the gameplan is for tomorrow?”

“Uh huh.” She laughs as a golden retriever nudges her, “Oh Donald, no more treats for you.”

Joseph gives them all a polite wave goodnight and spends his drive to Amnesty Lodge reassuring himself that just because Hank looks like every guy who used to pull their eyes into slanted shapes when he walked by in high school doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, let alone that Melanie will decide to leave Joseph for him. 

Amnesty Lodge is undecorated save for a string of rainbow lights around the front, double doors. A young woman with a black and orange up-do and a sweater reading “hex the patriarchy” checks him in, pausing halfway through to shoo a massive, white rabbit away from the computer cables.

“Here you go! It’s just down that hall. Springs are open 7 am to 9 pm–Dr. Harris Bonkers, don’t you dare jump up there–and the restaurant is open six to nine.”

The wooden clock above the fireplace informs him it’s 8:50.

“How mad would the staff be if I tried to get in there now?”

“Worth a try. Barclay is closing tonight and he’s a big softie.” She gives him a conspiratorial wink, “but you didn’t hear that from me.”

He thanks her and wheels his bag across the worn, diamond patterned carpet until he reaches the restaurant. It’s empty except for a man behind the counter, wiping down the flattops with half the lights off.

“Excuse me? I, is there any chance of getting something to go?”

The man glances over his shoulder, “I could pack you up a few things, but do me a favor and throw that bolt once you get in here.”

Joseph locks the door as instructed and moves to the counter, sitting down just as the man tosses a towel over his shoulder and turns to regard him. 

Okay, things could be worse. Melanie could be staying with this guy. This guy with his strong jaw and gorgeous, auburn beard, his full lips and arms like a fucking lumberjack, god how is he making a man-bun look good? And why is his shirt unbuttoned those two buttons, it should be illegal to tease someone with that glimpse of the broad expanse of chest and dark hair-

He snaps himself out of the intense reminder of his bisexuality to find the cook giving him the exact same once over. It’s not until they lock eyes that the bearded man looks over at the bakery case, coughing awkwardly. 

“Uh, so I got a few slices of cake left. I could throw some bread and stuff under the salamander if you want something toasty.”

“That would be amazing” He glances at the name tag, “Barclay.”

“You in town for the ski season?”

“No. My, um, my girlfriend has family here. Apparently. And she’s helping fix up their flower farm. I came down to help.”

Barclay sets slices of cheese on a thick bread with everything seasoning on the crust, “You want me to make two of these in case she’s hungry?”

“She’s not staying here. She’s staying with the neighbors.”

The cook pauses, plate in hand, “You want two anyway?”

“Please.”

He wolfs down an offered slice of flourless chocolate cake, pulls out his wallet as Barclay sets a to-go box on the counter. 

“Don’t worry about it man, it’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

“Yep” Barclay smiles, melting the last of the frost from Joseph’s chest, “One time only, you come back tomorrow and you gotta pay full price.”

Joseph lifts the box like it’s an antique vase, “If everything else is as good as that cake, it will be worth it.”

Seven hours later, Joseph takes the same seat at the counter and is surprised to find Barclay writing something on a chalkboard. 

“Do you work every hour this place is open?”

“Nah. I’m usually here early to bake what we need for the day and then I work the breakfast shift. I covered for Moira, the afternoon and evening cook, so she could go see visiting family yesterday. Here, this is the winter menu and, oh, lemme just-” He lifts the small chalkboard from the counter and hangs it near the cash register, “there, those are the specials.”

“Latkes? Really?”

Barclay chuckles, “Yeah, Hanukkah started two days ago, wanted to offer some specials for it.”

“No, I know it did, I’m sort of shocked anywhere in town acknowledges that” He winces, looks down at his menu, “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“Aw, c’mon, didn’t the giant merry Christmas signs on all the public buildings clue you in to how multicultural this place is?”

Joseph offers an exasperated smile, “I’m glad I’m not the only one who notices that.”

“Latkes?”

“Please. Oh, and a side of eggs and some coffee, if you could.”

“Coming right up.”

They chat about the Lodge and the town as Barclay cooks, Joseph the only one in the place until a young, blonde woman appears in her apron just as a part of four comes in through the doors. 

“Swear Dani always knows just when it’s gonna get busy. Oh, lemme top you off. Need any more cream?”

Joseph bites back a flirtatious comment in favor of, “no, thank you.”

When his breakfast arrives, Joseph takes two bites and moans, “God, if I had more money I’d demand you come cook for me in the city the next time my family visits. This is amazing.”

“Glad you like it, but don’t hire me yet” Barclay scrapes hash across the flattop, “my latkes are great but my sufganiyot needs some work.”

Joseph wipes his lips with a napkin, “No one in my family can make them either. My mom would get them from the bakery on the Sunday and then we’d eat them watching The Thin Man. Or It Happened One Night, that was dad's favorite.”

“Fuck that sounds nice. Hash and eggs up!”

He stares down at his plate as Barclay and Dani trade orders and instructions back and forth. Melanie isn’t interested in watching old movies; she loves seeing new ones with him, but the older stuff isn’t her cup of tea. 

After breakfast he sends some emails from his laptop, then takes his paperback into the lobby to read by the fireplace until Melanie calls. 

He wakes up in a comfy chair at noon to Aubrey, the young woman from last night, gently poking his shoulder.

“Hey, so, your girlfriend called with a message. She says she has to help Hank decorate the mint farm for an important work event. Um, that means something to you right? Because it seemed weird to me.”

He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, “Yes, it means I’ll have plenty of time to finish my book. Thank you, Aubrey, for telling me.”

An hour later his book is finished and he’s wondering if he should just go nap in bed all day when Barclay enters the lobby, yawning and pulling on his coat. 

“Hey Joseph, thought you’d be off fixing a house by now.”

He explains the situation, doing his best to hide the frustration and worry burbling in his stomach. Barclay rubs his beard thoughtfully and says, “You wanna give me a hand getting some decorations for the Lodge? You don’t, uh, you don’t have to, but it’d be nice to have some company.”

Five minutes later, he’s bundled in the passenger seat of a red, battered pick-up as Barclay steers them towards the center of town. 

“We mostly need the greenery, like branches and stuff. We’ve got all the lights we need in storage so we’re good there, and we promised Duck–uh, he’s a friend, works in the national forest–we wouldn’t just harvest our decorations from random trees near the Lodge.”

“And we’re getting a tree?” Joseph asks as they turn at the sign reading directing them towards the Christmas tree farm in red letters.

“Nah, we try to keep it more general. Like, being a place of light and warmth in the darkness of winter. This place sells branches and wreaths in bulk if you know who to ask and also bring them cookies” he taps the tupperware box on the seat between them. 

They park and walk across the snow-dusted gravel to a small cabin at the front of the farm, turning to the back of it while the other guests weave between the different pines. Even working as a team, it takes the two of them a half hour to move the crates of greenery to the truck. 

“Phew, that’s the last one.” Barclay shuts the tailgate, “You hungry? The lone Vietnamese place in town does a mean lunch special.”

“Let me treat you? After all, you did make me breakfast.” 

A puff of breath marks Barclay’s laugh. With a remarkably demur smile for a man his size he adds, “You’re pretty gratifying to cook for.” He reaches out, brushing stray pine needles from Joseph’s black, winter coat. Joseph is a nanosecond away from returning the favor when a familiar voice catches his ear.

“Melanie?” He waves to his girlfriend, who hurries over to him with Hank and three small children in tow. She loves kids, so he’s glad she’s getting to spend time with some (he knows she wants a big family, something he can’t give her quite as easily as a cis guy could).

“Hi sweetheart, thanks so much for understanding about today. They’ve had trouble selling the mint, I guess demand is really low? Anyway, Hank and I have to get a tree for the party, and there’s going to be a ton of clean-up tomorrow, but the next day do you wanna come with me to the hot cocoa tasting? It’s to support the volunteer fire department, Hanks a member so I thought it’d be great to support him.”

“I, um” Joseph tamps down on all the ways this is setting off his “she’s in act one of a rom-com and I’m the boring stick in the mud” alarm bells and nods, “yes, that sounds great. Good luck with the party tonight. And, um, just give me a call if you end up needing more help.”

“Melaniieeee, come on, someone has to hold uncle Hank’s other hand.” One of the blonde little girls waves her arms emphatically. His girlfriend departs with an apologetic smile. He blows her a kiss. She doesn’t seem to see it. 

“....Did she say the guy can’t find buyers for mint? Like, the plant that’s a major ingredient in all kinds of food and also medicine? That mint?”

“It seems so.”

“It’s either man-eating or it tastes like shit.” When Joseph just keeps watching the happy group walk away, Barclay sets a warm hand on his shoulder, “still wanna get lunch? I’m not a gorgeous blonde, but I’m still a pretty good date.”

Joseph turns, eyebrows raised, and Barclay grins, “There you are. I was worried you’d stay spaced out and I’d have to stick you in the bed with the plants to get you home.”

“Not a chance, big guy.” He nearly apologizes for the nickname, but Barclay just playfully shoulder checks him on his way to unlock the car door. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph slept through his alarm, so technically he has no one to blame but himself. 

But come on, it isn’t that ridiculous to think a morning hot cocoa tasting event will have food that isn’t Christmas cookies. Or that it would have coffee. 

Instead he’s been sitting next to Melanie as she chats with other Snowfall residents like she’s known them for years. Betty, Hanks’ mother, is at their table, and seems to have taken a distinct dislike to Joseph. One he is really, really hoping isn’t related to the fact that he and Melanie are the only mixed-race couple in the building. 

He gamely drinks whatever cocoa Melanie suggests, and he has to admit the one Hank made tastes nice. But his pouring sugar into an empty stomach is making him feel like he’s ten years old and just ate all his Halloween candy in one go. 

Hank finally joins them and Joseph earnestly tries to get to know him. But he keeps getting boxed out when Melanie and Hank turn the conversation towards their favorite Christmas traditions. 

“Marshmallows!!!!” The three kids at the table shriek and sprint off to a figure that just came through the doors. Barclay manages to keep his balance as they clamor for the boxes in his arms, and gives them each a white, pillowy square before unboxing the rest onto the table. 

“I don’t know why he fusses with that. You can get two dozen bags at Walmart for ten dollars.” Betty mutters.

“He likes it. We were chatting yesterday and he admitted that he makes macarons when he’s stressed.”

“Which means?” Melanie looks at him, perplexed.

“He fears nothing.” Joseph says blithely. When he notices everyone at the table looking at him oddly, he stands, “I’m going to see if he needs any help.”

Barclay looks up as he more or less dives into the community center kitchen, “trying to get first dibs on the coffee ones?”

“No. Not that those don’t sound delicious but if I eat anything else sweet I’m going to be sick.”

“Kinda thought that might be the case.” Barclay reaches into one box, pulling out a McDonalds bag and two travel mugs of coffee, “it’s not fancy, but when Dani said she saw you literally running out of the lobby this morning I had a hunch you might need a pick me up.”

Joseph takes the offered mug, staring at the shiny blue exterior.

“Can I hug you?”

Barclay rumbles out a laugh and opens his arms, “C’mere.”

Joseph tentatively wraps his arms around him, tension that’s been there since 2014 melting out of his spine as Barclay hugs him back. 

“Is this all Egg McMuffin related?”

“No. I’ve felt lonely all morning and I’m…seeing you changed that.”

A soft, concerned hum is all the reply Barclay gives as he holds Joseph a little tighter before reluctantly letting go. 

After the cocoa tasting is through, Melanie asks Joseph to come with her while she does some Christmas shopping downtown. It’s perfectly pleasant, walking in the light snow with Christmas carols drifting from every store. But as they hold hands, all he can think of is how it would feel to do the same with Barclay. Judging by how much of Melanie’s conversation revolves around Hank, he’s guessing she wishes she was holding a different hand. 

As they’re turning back towards the community center, street lamps lighting their way, a voice calls out “fire” and they’re suddenly pelted in snowballs. 

“Hah!” Hank yells to Melanie from where he and his nieces and nephew are hidden behind a snowbank, “told you I’d get you back for last night!”

“Oh it’s on!” Melanie takes off after them, calling a goodbye to Joseph as she does. 

Snow slips past his collar and drips down his back all the way to his car. By the time he arrives at the Lodge, no amount of blasting the heater relieves the chill. 

He’s trying not to look uptight or upset on his way to his room, but when snow manages to slip down his pants, he groans and thunks his head into his door.

“You okay there?” Barclay is behind, wrapping paper in one hand and tape in the other.

“No. I got hit by a bunch of snowballs and I couldn’t act like I hated it, which I did, because Melanie clearly loved it and I don’t need yet another reason to seem stuffy and out of touch next to Hank! And to top it all off I cannot get warm.”

“You wanna use the springs?”

“They’re closed.”

Barclay gives him a sly smile, “Get your suit and meet me at that back door.”

He changes, tugging his complementary robe around himself as he waits. When Barclay returns, he ushers him out and past the usual springs to a door marked Staff Only.

“Holy shit, I thought this was a maintenance shed or something.”

“Nope. We want the staff to have a way to enjoy the springs without dealing with guests.” Barclay tugs off his sweatshirt, revealing his bare torso. Like his arms, it’s dotted with tattoos, and Joseph quickly tosses his robe over a chair so he can join him for a closer look at one in particular.

“I like the Bigfoot one.” 

“Knew you would” Barclay teases, eyes skating along Joseph's arms and chest, “think yours is more, uh, tasteful.”

Joseph glances at the black silhouette of Bigfoot on his shoulder, then at the woodland scene with the cryptid peeking out of the trees on Barclay’s bicep, “Yours is much more eye-catching.”

“Got it when I was cooking out on the west coast. My nickname was Bigfoot so it seemed like a good memento.”

Joseph playfully nudges his foot beneath the water, “They don’t seem too big to me.”

“Maybe not. I like to think every part of me is, uh, proportional” He leans back, spreading his arms over the side of the pool and Joseph uses all his self-control not to look down and confirm his statement. Then it runs out.

“Is…is that tattoo of a jar of chili crisp?” 

Barclay blushes, “Yeah. A friend of mine and I got condiment tattoos as part of a stunt to raise some money for the Lodge.” The cook opens his legs, ostensibly to move the tattoo closer so Joseph can see it. 

As Joseph adjusts for a better look, Barclay frowns, “Fuck, that looks like it hurt.”

He sighs, looking at the scar on his side, “Being shot generally does.”

“Holy fuck. When you said you’d been in the FBI I  didn’t realize it meant, like, dangerous shoot-out levels of FBI.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. I was negotiating with a chunk of a cult that had taken some hostages on a farm and my back-up…didn’t back me up. They started firing on someone else's order and didn’t stop no matter what I said. I found out the hard way that someone had ammo that could pierce a bulletproof vest.”

“Fuck, Joseph, I’m sorry.” Barclay reaches out, tracing the skin above the scar.

“It was for the best. I like the work I’m doing now much better and I go to sleep with a clearer conscience. Plus I have more time to write.”

“I really do wanna read your book when you’re done.”

He means it. No one in Joseph’s life has ever meant it. 

“I’ll send you a copy, even if it’s just a stapled together one.”

Barclay yawns, rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder, “Gonna hold you to that.”

A hand bumps his thigh, palm upturned. An invitation. 

Joseph takes it, holding tight to the warmth as the snow swirls through the air.

—--------------------------------------------------------

“I hate being right.” Joseph hangs back against the Lodge wall, sporting the closest thing he owns to an ugly sweater (deep blue with snowflakes and UFOs) as his girlfriend kisses a man in a far uglier one on the other side of the room. 

“I’m sorry.” Barclay murmurs, though his voice is oddly tight.

“It’s for the best. But I need to go talk with her.”

Melanie is still glowing when Joseph waves her to the side door so they can talk outside. 

“Joseph, I, before you say whatever it is you want to say I need to tell you that I’m-”

“Breaking up with me?”

Her face falls, “You could tell?”

“I did have a career in investigation for years. What I wanted to say is that we’re on the same page. Dating you has been great, but I think we just want different things.”

“Yeah” she looks over her shoulder to where Hank is explaining the nativity scene on his shirt to his nephew, “I think we do. Take care, okay?”

He smiles and nods, giving a little wave as she disappears inside. Then he skirts the Lodge and sneaks in the back door, no longer in a festive enough mood to be in a crowd, even if that crowd includes his friends from the Lodge. 

The noise from the party dies down around ten, the same time he finishes the last crossword puzzle in his book. He’s wishing he’d done them in pencil so he could erase them and do some again when there’s a knock on the door. 

Opening it, he finds Barclay standing there, hands behind his back. 

“You can tell me to fuck off but I…I brought these” He produces a bag of jelly donuts from behind him, then reveals a DVD case, “and a copy of The Thin Man.”

Joseph takes both, voice shaky as he thanks him.

“I thought we could watch it together. I, I know it’s silly, and I almost didn’t do this because doing it right after you broke up with Melanie seemed creepy but also you’re only here for so long and I didn’t wanna chicken out” Barclay pauses, taking a deep breath, “but I wanted to say that I can’t think of a better way to spend a winter night than eating and watching old movies with you. Or just being with you.”

Joseph carefully sets the gifts on the bed. Then he takes two, determined strides and backs Barclay against the door, kissing him like his life depends on it. The cook moans, throwing his arms over Joseph's shoulders.

“That” Joseph murmurs, tracing his lips along Barclays’ throat, “is the best way I can think of spending a winter night.”

Barclay tips up Joseph’s chin to kiss him again, chaster but twice as hungry as before, “You make a convincing case, babe. So how about we find a new way to keep warm?”

“Fuck” The ghost in the middle, tall and bearded like a spectral lumberjack, studies a glowing piece of paper that just appeared in his hand, “O’Hare is dead. This is his old apartment.”

“Brilliant.” The silver-haired ghost rubs his forehead, “I did not bother to check the timelines since I assumed the front office would have updated their files in a timely manner.”

“Ain’t your fault, ‘Drid.” The ghost of what he assumes is the past turns to Joseph, “you got any Hanukkah based regrets? Or, uh, any winter-related ones?”

“I regret plenty of things, but no. This time of year isn’t all that fraught for me.”

“Aw beans.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been in this kind of situation and it’s very frustrating. Or, well, not this exact situation but I bet afterlife bureaucracies are just as bad as the ones on earth. Is there a ritual or something I have to do to help you get back to the afterlife? Or at least help you mark the job as done.”

The bearded ghost fiddles with the arm of his fir green and fur-lined robe, “We won’t be able to go back until the end of Christmas Day, and we can tell them it was a mix-up; they didn’t reassign us.” He waves the paper and it dissipates into green smoke. 

Stern glances at his alarm clock; it’s three in the morning. He’s in his pajamas with the little mothmen on them. He’s getting towards the end of his groceries. In other words, he’s in no state to host anyone. 

But how often does a paranormal experience just fall into his lap?

“You’re welcome to spend the day here. I don’t have the most exciting Christmas schedule but I don’t mind the company.”

“Ohthankfuck.” The bearded ghost smiles, “we were literally gonna be stuck floating around the building the whole day otherwise. Uh, so, I’m Barclay. This is Indrid and Duck.” He points to the silver-haired ghost and then southern ghost.” 

“It’s a nickname.” Duck adds. 

Indrid floats over to sit on the edge of the bed, “Tell us, what does today look like for Joseph Stern?”

“A quiet morning followed by getting Chinese food and going to a movie.” He shrugs, “cliche, but I really do enjoy it.”

“No big breakfast?” Barclay looks genuinely disappointed. 

“Not unless I’m visiting my sister; her in-laws celebrate Christmas and my niece is growing up with both.” He sighs, still sleepy enough to feel sentimental, “She always makes our mom’s coffee cake recipe.”

“I, uh, I could try making it if you want.” 

If Joseph didn’t know better, he’d say the ghost was blushing. 

“I’d…I’d actually really like that. Thank you.”

Barclay smiles and fades from view. Joseph stands, stretching to get the kinks from his back. When he turns towards the door, he finds Duck’s gaze finishing a prolonged trip down his body. 

Duck is exactly the kind of guy he used to pick up at bars so, to prove to himself he’s not out of practice, he drops his own gaze to Duck’s round belly and gorgeous thighs, then meets his eyes with a smile.

He excuses himself to the kitchen to help Barclay. As the bedroom door closes, Indrid lits, “yes, my sweet, I feel much the same.”

Before he can wonder who the spirit agrees with, he bangs his shin into a pumpkin the size of a small child. His counters are overflowing with pie, cookies, roast turkey, tureens of vegetables, and more casserole dishes than a church potluck. 

Barclay looks sheepishly from where he’s trying to close Joseph’s fridge against a tide of cheese and clanking bottles, “Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of all this. Being the ghost of Christmas present is all about abundance and stuff so whenever I enter a kitchen this happens.” He waves his hand twice and the fridge slams shut, “phew, okay, I'm gonna try getting the coffee out again.”

“Here, let me.” Joseph fishes the bag from the refrigerator door, nudges an apple pie drizzled with caramel sauce to the side so he can reach the coffee pot, “do any of you take milk or sugar?”

“Duck and I both take it black.”

“I would prefer creamer, if you have it.” Indrid materializes through the wall while Duck steps through the threshold from the hall. 

“I have eggnog. I like to put that in mine.”

“Oooh, yes please!” Indrid reaches for a sugar cookie, which slips through his fingers. He grumbles, but a second cookie floats off the plate and hovers in front of his lips. He grins and disappears, the cookie doing the same a moment later.

“Geez you two, get a room.” Barclay teases.

“You can see them?”

“Yeah, ghosts can see other ghosts even when we’re not visible to humans. Got some other cool tricks too. Can I, uh, can I hold your hands?”

Joseph puts both hands out, palms up, Barclay disappearing right before his hands come to rest in them. Chilly fingers gently hold him as a voice soft and deep as a mound of fresh snow says, “Think about the coffee cake. Like, eating it.”

He closes his eyes, puts himself back at Lily’s house, tries to conjure cinnamon, ginger, and brown sugar in the right proportions on his tongue. 

A beard grazes his cheek as Barclay whispers, “Look at the table.”

He knows it’s there before the baking dish even comes into focus, the smell catapulting him through three decades and back again. 

“Incredible.” He grabs a knife from the top drawer, cuts himself a slice and tastes it cautiously. Then he slumps down into his chair, moaning happily, “It’s perfect.”

Barclay beams, “Fuck yeah. I, I was gonna offer to make it from scratch but every time I try to do that I summon ten times more of each ingredient no matter what I try.”

“The perils of the paranormal.” He picks a napkin from the holder at the center of the table. 

“More of ‘em than you’d think.” Duck sits to his left, looking for all the world like he’s in the chair instead of hovering, “For my first year I kept ending up in the past any time I listened to oldies.”

“When you say first year, is ‘holiday spirit’ a job you can be assigned?”

“More or less.” Indrid settles in Duck’s lap, “if you wish to remain a ghost rather than passing on into the great beyond, you have to accept some form of ‘post-death service.’ Many of them are like our assignment in that they only take up a small portion of a year. You still have to write weekly reports though.”

“That’s a bit bleak.”

“Assuredly. But ghost-hood does have perks” he grins at Barclay, “like excellent company.”

This time the ghost’s blush is obvious as he slides cake Indrid’s way. Joseph pours four mugs of coffee, Indrid flapping his hands when he gives him the mothman one. The conversation moves towards the finer points of afterlife politics and Barclay’s relief that ghosts can now consume food without it having to be burnt as an offering first. Then Duck bemoans the fact a restaurant in his hometown hired an exorcist after he turned up hoping for his favorite, french onion soup, and soon they’re trading stories about where they grew up.

By the time Duck gets up to wash the dishes, Joseph has almost forgotten his guests aren’t ghosts. Two of whom are undoubtedly flirting with him; Barclay may be trying to, but whenever Joseph tosses a flirtatious comment his way he starts fading from view. 

Joseph turns a coy smile on Indrid, “You said you can see the future. Can I ask you a question?”

“Is it the date you die or whether you find true love?”

“Neither. Will I have a better time if I go see Torsey Torse or The Conjuring: Psychic Bigfoot?”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “Let me see…” his face goes blank. Then he jerks backward in his chair and looks, alarmed, at Joseph from behind his red glasses, “You, you cannot leave the house today.”

“What? Why?”

“The weather” he points at the light snow falling outside, “will get worse within the next two hours. And when you are out in it, you will be crossing the street when a driver loses control. There are no timelines where you survive.”

“Jesus.” His whole spine is ice and his heart is bouncing between his throat and the pit of his stomach. 

Duck sets a comforting hand through his shoulder, clearly trying for a light tone, “Real glad you asked ‘Drid about the movies. Much as I like you, hate to see you beef it so soon.”

He laughs nervously, “Well, I, I guess I’ll stay in then. That’s safe, right?”

Indrid goes blank a moment before nodding.

“Okay, operation hunkered down holiday it is then. I, um, I’m going to go shower quickly. Please make yourselves at home.”

Twenty minutes of dissociating in the shower at the thought of coming so close to his own death later, Joseph steps into his bedroom and puts on  jeans and his favorite sweater; black save for a festive pattern made up of UFOs and cows around the chest. 

“Are you okay?” Barclay floats through the doorway.

“I will be. Just a little rattled.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“God, yes.” 

It’s a bit mind melting to feel something holding him even as his eyes tell him there’s nothing nearby, but the sensation quickly loses out to how excellent Barclay is at hugs. There’s a flannel shirt under his robe and Joseph rests his cheek against it. He wonders if he and Barclay would ever have crossed paths if the cook had lived longer, if there was ever a future where he held this same body while blood ran in its veins. 

“C’mon, I wanna get a spot on the couch before Indrid just completely boxes us out of the blankets.”

It’s not much of an exaggeration; Indrid has every blanket in the house piled on the couch, and is making grabby hands at Duck, who’s studying Joseph’s DVD collection. 

“Since you ain’t able to go out, thought maybe we could watch a flick or two here?”

“Oooh, or we could even have a movie marathon.”

“I’d love that, although our options in that case are The Lord of the Rings trilogy or all five of the Bigfoot: The Legend is Real movies. Number one and four are particularly good.”

Duck smiles at him, a crooked, charming thing that Joseph wants to kiss for hours, “Fuckin nerd.”

“I find it works for me. The box sets are right there.”

“Yessir.” Duck teases, grabbing the Bigfoot case and carrying it over to the T.V.

“Joseph, sit by me please.”

He slides under the offered blanket, only for Indrid to disappear.

“Wh-AH, ohgod, Indrid you’re freezing.”

“I ran cold in life and apparently it carried over into death. And while my fellow specters are lovely to cuddle you are so very, very warm.”

“GAH” He laughs as chilly fingers sneak under his sweater.

“Go easy on him, little moth.” The pet name is fond in Barclay’s mouth; at a guess, it’s referring to the tattoos peeking from the collar of Indrid’s black shirt. 

“Mmmm, you don’t mind, do you Joseph?” Indrid purrs. 

“Not a bit.” He manages to sling his arm over Indrid’s shoulder. Barclay settles on this other side, and once the opening titles blare across screen Duck hops under the blankets and kicks his legs into Indrid’s lap. 

Ten minutes in, Indrid is fully engrossed in the action, Duck is pointing out all the flaws in the park ranger’s behavior, and Barclay keeps whispering jokes in Joseph’s ear. 

When–between movie two and three–Duck suggests they order delivery from his favorite Chinese place, Joseph wonders if he actually did get hit by that car and ended up in paradise. 

By the time they’re midway through the fourth movie, the apartment smells like fried rice and Barclay is trying valiantly to rest his head in Joseph’s lap without going fully invisible. Indrid is half asleep on Duck, who pets his hair and brushes crumbs from the arm of the couch. 

When the final credits roll, Duck stretches out an arm, tracing the air just above Joseph’s arm, “You thought about how you wanna wrap up your Christmas Day?”

“If it were just me, I’d take a bath and have a nightcap. But, well, that isn’t exactly an interesting evening for my guests.”

“Don’t be so certain” Indrid tips his head to look over the rim of his glasses, “I think the sight of you in the tub would be quite diverting. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck grins.

“Barclay?” Joseph turns to the third ghost, whose hands are glued to his knees.

“I would do literally anything to see you naked.” He smacks his palms into his face, “that sounded more romantic in my head.”

“I think it was charming.” Indrid lilts. 

Joseph wishes for the hundredth time that night that he could just take Barclay’s hand, “I agree.” On a hunch, he adds, “come on, big guy, help me get undressed.”

He leads Barclay to the bathroom, starting the tap in the tub before turning to him and murmuring, “Okay, go ahead.”

The ghost disappears, and then spectral fingers hook the edge of his sweater. He obediently lifts his arms then watches, amused, as the sweater seems to fold and set itself on a chair. The process repeats with his blue t-shirt before his jeans are carefully undone and pulled to the floor. His underwear follows, and then for a moment he cannot figure out where Barclay’s gone. Then strong hands are on his hips and a deep voice asks, “Can I kiss you?”

He nods, lets Barclay initiate the kiss and then cups his hands on invisible cheeks. His lips tingle the way they do when he uses mint chapstick, and he sighs happily as Barclay dips his tongue between them. 

The tap squeaks off. 

“While this a most interesting sight, your bath is now ready, pet, and I suggest you get into it.”

He gasps, blushing at Indrid pegging the perfect, well, pet name immediately. 

“Yeah, he does that. Uses the futures to get all your fantasies outta you.” Duck whistles, “damn, slick, nice tub.”

“I took an apartment further from the bus stop just so I could have it.” He sinks into the hot water with a sigh, “it’s a lifesaver when it comes to relaxing after work.”

“Speakin of, uh, relaxation, ‘Drid and I spotted somethin mighty interesting on your bookshelf.”

He cringes, “Exorcise My Heart?”

“Yep. Explains why you weren’t freaked out by any of us comin’ onto you.”

“I promise the premise is better than it sounds. It’s about a ghost hunter who falls in love with the two spirits he’s been assigned to locate and remove from an old New England mansion. It’s a, um, a favorite of mine. But it’s not the only reason I was comfortable enough to flirt; the three of you are wonderful, I feel so relaxed and happy around you. Like I can be myself.”

Duck’s smile is brighter than the lights around the mirror.

“All the same, pet” Indrid isn’t visible, but his voice is getting closer, “it seems to me that such an accommodating host should be rewarded.”

“What do you have in mind?”

A splash as something slips into the water behind him, then lithe arms circle his waist and cold lips kiss his throat, “I say we do your book one better and have three ghosts enjoy themselves with you.”

“Yes, that sounds amazing, please, please can we do that?”

“Gladly, pet. Let me just–damn it, come on–okay there we are, I managed to banish my clothes somewhere. In theory your bedroom but I’m a bit distracted at the moment. Barclay, how about you join me?”

The green robe joins his bathrobe on the door, more clothes materializing in a stack as Barclay takes them off. When the water in front of him ripples, Joseph leans forward for a kiss. He breaks it a moment later with a gasp as a lubed  finger works itself into his ass.

“H-how-”

“I have some conjuring abilities that are not related to my work. Now, do tell us more about this book.”

“What about Duck?”

“You’re sweet, slick. But I’m gonna wait until you’re finished doin’ what ‘Drid says. Then I’m gonna use that nice mouth of yours until I cum.”

He groans, dick twitching at the thought, and does his best to form words while Barclay kisses his face and chest, “The, the best scene is when the ghosts decide to ambush the hunter in his bedroom. The, ahgod, the idea is to scare him but then they have to restrain him so he doesn’t use any cleansing tools on them and he gets turned on by it. So they end up tying his hands together and one of them fucks his ass while the other makes him deepthroat them. They end up spending the whole night using him so he’s too, too tired to bother them the next day.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Duck’s fly is undone, his fingers moving beneath his boxers.

“It really is. Relatedly, one, one of you please fuck me right now or I’m going to go out of my mind.”

“You go ahead, Barclay. In death, as in life, I am an ass man and it will take a little bit more preparation for that.”

Joseph shifts, straddling Barclay’s lap. 

A gentle hand strokes his face, “you ready?”

“Readyoh, oh” He drops his forehead to Barclay’s shoulder, “oh wow, big guy really is an accurate pet name huh?”

“You know it, babe. Fuck, you feel great, your so warm and tight it’s like fucking heaven.”

“Right, that’s all the patience I possess.” Indrid’s cock presses into his ass, “oh, oh goodness, pet you feel divine.”

“Th-thank you.”

“So polite too. That should be rewarded. Sweetheart, I think it’s time.”

Duck comes right to the edge of the tub before disappearing. Then a hand grabs Joseph’s hair and drags his face forward to meet slick folds and a very pleasing dick. He sucks eagerly, manages to run a hand along a thick, perfect thigh before squeezing his wonderful ass. 

Duck’s laugh bounces off the walls, “Damn, knew you were checkin my ass out but I didn’t realize how much you liked what you saw.”

Joseph pulls back with a gasp, “‘Like’ is an understatement. Your ass and thighs and belly were all made to be adored and god I hope everyone who ever saw you alive appreciated the honor of getting to see them.”

“Aw geez.”

“My, my, pet, he rarely blushes like that.”

“I mean every word.”

Fingers brush damp hair from his forehead, “Don’t doubt it, slick. But as much as I like you feelin me up, we got other plans.”

Cold fingers circle his wrists, wrenching his arms behind him and trapping them there. The resulting moan is muffled by Duck shoving his mouth back where it belongs. It doesn’t take long for the ghost to switch to holding his head in both hands and fucking his face as his moans grow more and more ragged. He tries to not seem too desperate for rough treatment the first time with a partner, but he knows there’s no reason to hide how badly he wants this, how good it feels as Barclay drives into him and Indrid snaps his hips and laughs at his resulting squeaks. 

He closes his eyes, loses himself in the whirl of sensations, and pictures what the scene would look like if the ghosts could be seen and felt at the same time. When fingers rub swift, calculated circles on his dick, he can’t tell whose hand it is, only that it feels incredible and is pushing him towards orgasm with remarkable speed.

“Oh yes, yes pet, tighten up for me, oh, ohohohyes.” Indrid digs his nails into his hips as he cums.

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous when you cum in him, sugar. Can you go a little harder big fella? Every time you do he sucks real nice.”

Barlcay holds him tighter just as Joseph  gasps and writhes with the most intense orgasm of his life. As his cock thrusts harder and harder, his legs kick and on instinct he tries to twist away from the overwhelming sensation. 

“Uh uh, you’re not done babe, don’t worry, I got you, god you feel good, gonna make you feel so good too, fuck, fuck.” A kiss smushes into his cheek as Barclay cums in him with a long, low moan. His jaw is starting to ache but he keeps sucking all the same until Duck cums too, hips shuddering and bucking as he does. 

“You’re fuckin amazin’” A hand ruffles his hair and then Duck is visible, kneeling by the tub, “you doin’ okay.”

“I think every circuit of my brain is blown out, but yes. I feel incredible.”

Duck smiles softly, “I’ll get you that nightcap.”

Once Barclay pulls out, the three of them stumble from the tub, Barclay bundling him in his robe while Indrid kisses his face and tells him how wonderful and good and perfect he is. Duck meets them in bed with a tray of spiked eggnogs, the four of them cuddling and huddling in bed as the snow whips around outside. When eleven thirty hits, Joseph loses his battle with unconsciousness. 

He wakes up at seven on the 26th, tries to ignore the horrible, empty feeling in his chest as he stands and shuffles into the kitchen. There’s a new note on the fridge, held in place by a heart shaped magnet. 

Going to talk to head office about more holiday visits. Will sneak up here for New Years Eve regardless. 

See you soon, handsome

They made time for each other after that, Barclay crashing on Joseph’s bed to rest after a night shift while Joseph furiously typed out essays or Barclay bodily dragging Joseph out of the room to go for a damn walk (which he did actually need).

At the end of their Freshman year, they signed the lease on an apartment together. They’ve lived with each other ever since. Through two moves, multiple break-ups, the terrifying process of getting a small business loan, and one summer spent renovating the building that would become their business, and a thousand other changes, they’ve been each other's constants and roommates.

Five or six winters into their tradition, Barclay admitted that he thought finding true love at Christmas would be a dream come true. Every year, he gets misty-eyed at kisses under the mistletoe and proposals in the snow. And every year, January finds him uncoupled and blue. 

Joseph doesn’t understand why; he may be a real-life version of the work-obsessed, urban dwelling boyfriend that always ends up single, but Barclay, six foot three of flannel clad gentleness who can bake cinnamon rolls so good they’d make a nun orgasm, should be fending off career obsessed women and men who run dog groomers or flower shops with a stick. 

In the glow of the screen, Barclay rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder, sighing wistfully as the heroine glances out the window of her private plane to see the hero has written “I love you” in the snow. 

Barclay deserves someone who will do that for him. But–as Joseph finally admitted to himself this Halloween–there’s no escaping the fact that Barclay finding his True Love would mean Joseph losing his.

In theory, this is an easily solvable situation. All Joseph has to do is open his mouth and confess the feelings mounded in his chest like shoveled snow. But if he’s wrong, he could blow up his longest friendship and fuck up their business on top if that. 

Worse still is the thought that however he confesses won’t be enough. That it will seem so natural, so unremarkable, that it will blend into the background noise of their lives together and Barclay won’t notice Joseph bearing his heart because instead of bleeding on the table it’s nestled in among the dishes. 

That’s why Joseph has created The Plan

Step one: Locate the perfect time and place for a grand, romantic gesture. 

Step two: Go to that location with Barclay

Step three: Confess his feelings to Barclay

 Step four, version A start dating the man he’s lived with since he was nineteen and loves more than any speech, chart, or bulleted list can express. 

     Step four, version B: ask best friend to please forget he ever said anything and swear they can go on as normal ->hate self forever for making it weird. 

Even if it goes horribly, he’ll have given Barclay spectacular, seasonal declaration of love that he deserves. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m not loving those clouds.”  Barclay swaps out the ABBA C.D for Ragtime Christmas as Joseph merges onto the freeway. 

“I checked this morning, the storm is supposed to miss this area.” He can’t deny the grey-black snowclouds are getting closer than he’d like, but he’s not ready to abandon his plan just yet. Barclay wants to get a tree from a genuine tree farm an hour from the city. Tucked in Joseph’s pocket is a folded up banner reading, “You’re the one I’m Pining for.” When they find the perfect tree, he’s going to get to it first and hang the banner around it.

 If Barclay shares his feelings, Joseph will ask him to drive so he can get them a table at the Badger Den, Barclay’s favorite cafe on this route, for a cozy dinner for two. 

Three tracks into the C.D, snow sticks to the windshield. Five tracks in, it’s coming down so hard Joseph is struggling to see the road. Barclay switches to the radio, scanning around until he finds the weather broadcast. 

“...winds at 25 mph, visibility low, residents are advised to stay indoors.”

“Christmas tree can wait.” Barclay says as Joseph is already signaling for the offramp. 

He gets them headed for home, but the storm is faster than his CR-V and they soon come to silent, white knuckled agreement to pull off at the next possible spot and find somewhere to wait out the worst of it. 

The sign at the offramp has one gas station and one restaurant, and as they creep down the dark road the snow turns orange. Blinking before them is a sign for The Slice is Right.

“Guess we’re having pizza.”  Barclay hops out of the car, excited at the prospect of a new restaurant, and Joseph follows him into a space whose walls are more movie poster than concrete at this point. 

Since they’re in no hurry, they order a Chicago style and contemplate their drinks as the howling wind competes with the 80s pop eking through the speakers. 

“I tell you about the idea I had for some extra sales?”

“I don’t think so.” 

Barclay grins, “Okay, it’s hella cheesy, but you know those blind date with a book things?  We can do some of those, but in addition to, like, the vibes we write what drink from the cafe pairs with it on the cover. And then the person gets a free one of those drinks if they buy it.”

“That’d work for both the holidays and Valentines Day.” Joseph taps his finger on his mug.

“I see you making a list of what books to include.” A booted foot nudges his ankle under the table, “c’mon, share with the class.”

“Well, Agent X: TNT would be an obvious pair for the Mothman Mocha. Maybe something non-fiction for the matcha latte…”

“That new one about the ten plants that shaped human history?”

“Good thinking. I’d certainly read The Sweetheart Killer with a caramel latte but that might just be me….”

By the time the pizza arrives they’ve come up with a dozen pairings and are more than ready to shove molten cheese in their mouths. As they’re polishing off the last two slices, Barclay peers past him. 

“Is that Pac Man? Over there, through that door.” 

Joseph turns, following his gaze and then spotting a sign reading “arcade” above a yellow door frame. 

“I think it is. Let’s go see.”

He’s expecting an alcove with one or two games, but the door leads to an entire room of them, including the Creature from the Black Lagoon pinball. The change machine accepts his dollar with ease, so he slides in a few more and then searches for Barclay. 

He finds him by one of two air hockey tables, the kind they used to play in the campus rec center. 

The cook pats one side of it, “This has gotta be older than both of us and I fully intend to kick your ass on it.”

Joseph grins, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, “Don’t be too sure about that, big guy.”

By the time he’s won eleven out of twenty rounds, the sun is actually peeking out from the clouds, giving them an opening to head home. As they walk the few, icy steps to the car, Barclay shoos him over to the passenger seat.

“You got us out here. Seems only fair I get us home.”

They pull onto the freeway and come immediately to a stop in the midst of storm-related traffic. As they inch towards the city, Barclay’s right hand rests on the center console and Joseph wonders for about the five hundredth time how it would feel to hold it. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Since his first plan was derailed by weather, he makes damn sure his second can’t be. There’s a Christmas market in the (enclosed) stadium where the two of them always do some final gift shopping. Stacked among the stalls selling alpaca wool and fresh cheese curds is Hole She-Bang doughnuts, AKA Barclay’s favorite doughnuts in the whole wide world. 

The bakers are based an hour and half north, so Barclay only gets them once or twice a year. His favorite are the apple cider ones, filled with either apple cinnamon jelly or cream cheese custard. 

A week ago, Joseph called in a special order; those exact doughnuts, shaped into letters that spell “You+Me= Date?”

He even knows exactly where in the market the stall will be and the route that will allow them to hit all their favorite stops on the way. 

They’re one row of booths away when a white pitbull in an orange and black sweater comes barreling through the crowd. It’s tail is wagging and it mostly seems interested in sniffing the air, but Barclay is still the only person to kneel down and wave it towards him 

“Hey buddy, hey, there we go” he rubs a round face, “where are your people, huh? I didn’t think they were allowed to have you in here.”

“They’re not.” Joseph crouches down, examining the frayed, orange fabric clipped to it’s collar, “He must have snapped his leash. Christ, the nearest place you can really walk is the bike trail and that’s at least a quarter mile away.”

Barclay peers at the heart shaped tag, “His name is B.B and….yep, here, there’s a phone number.” 

B.B flops onto his side and Barclay rubs his belly while Joseph calls. He gets a message machine, leaves his name and contact information, and turns back to Barclay. 

“We might want to get him outside. If they’re out looking for him it might not occur to them that he went through the automatic doors here.”

Barclay nods and undoes his belt. It makes for a short leash once it’s wrapped around the collar, but it’s enough to coax B.B outside. Joseph tries the number again and gets the same result, so they settle onto a bench to wait. He supposes they could call animal control or someone to take B.B and hold onto him, but he keenly remembers when Sass ran away when he was twelve and how miserable he was for the 48 hours it took for a good samaritan to lure him into their truck with their McDonalds order and bring him home. 

After a half hour, his phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number and he picks up to a man's anxious voice on the other end

“Uh, hi, the message from this number said you found my dog?”

“We did. He’s okay, we’ve got him out in front of the Caps stadium?”

“The what? Fuck, no wonder we couldn’t find him, he bolted so fast we were just guessing where to look and went the wrong way” his voice grows farther away, “yeah, yeah they still have him, toss me my keys? We’ll be there ASAP.” The man hangs up. 

Twenty minutes later, a sleek, orange car pulls into the parking lot a tad too fast. When two good looking men bound up the steps, the one with dark, wavy hair quickly out pacing his companion, B.B wags his whole body and nearly yanks Barclay off his feet.

“Yeah, that’s about what he did to me. Usually I can hold him but the leash gave.” The man from the phone kneels, bear hugging the dog, “don’t ever do that again.”

The other man bends, kissing the first on the head and rubbing B.Bs ear, then turns a dazzling smile on them, “Thank you guys so much for wrangling him. We only had my phone with us and it’s his number on the tag.”

“No big” Barclay smiles, “ just glad we could help.”

They shake hands and say goodbyes, B.B giving Barclay a final, parting lick. As they head back inside to finish their shopping, Joseph finds a new text on his phone telling him that the folks at Hole She-Bang had an emergency and had to pack up and go and would he like a refund?

Barclay brushes white fur from his shirt with the small, pleased smile that means he’s feeling pretty damn good.

Joseph texts back “no, thank you” and then asks if Barclay would like to get lunch. 

—-----------------------------------------

His third plan can’t miss: it can’t be stormed on or rained out, and since it’s confined to their apartment no one and nothing can interrupt it. 

He has two hours before Barclay gets back from the pottery class he takes with his friend, Indrid. Which gives Joseph two hours to make the apartment into a Hallmark scene come to life. Decorations, mistletoe, candles, fancy hot chocolate, romantic Christmas carols, he’s picked them all to match Barclay’s favorites, including some decor from Christmas Cake, Barclay’s favorite. 

They decorated the tree three days ago, so he focuses on the rest of the apartment, with each room getting strings of lights and the living room and kitchen getting extra silver and gold garlands. Finally, he hangs mistletoe from the ceiling and tacks green, metallic letters on the wall to read “I’d like you for Christmas.”

The power goes out five minutes before Barclay is supposed to get home.

As Joseph curses both his luck and the power grid, the door to the silent, dark, apartment opens behind him. 

“Guess it’s out here, too. That’s…Joseph? Is everything okay?”

Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “No, it’s not. I wanted the whole apartment to look like a Christmas movie when you got home.”

“I can kinda tell.” Barclay murmurs, taking in the new lights and the unlit candles on the table. Then he pauses, looking past Joseph’s shoulder to the letters on the wall.

“Is that for me, too?”

“Yes. It’s the latest in a series of attempted confessions.” He explains the whole, pathetic situation, Barclay coming closer as he does. 

Joseph sighs, “I know I could have just told you. But I know what a romantic you are, I know how long you’ve wanted someone to show their love like they’re in the movies. I was trying to give you these wonderful days as a lead up to telling you how I feel not only because it’s what you want but because that’s what you deserve.”

Barclay glances down, rubbing his arm, “But those were wonderful days. Because I was with you.”

“Really?”

His friend gives a disbelieving chuckle, “Joseph, some days I wake up and I can’t believe how much I fucking lucked out to have a home and a job and a life that I get to share with you. That’s why I never did some of the things I really, really wanted to do. I was afraid I’d fuck the whole thing up and lose you forever.”

Barclay cups his face, hands still chilly from his walk home, and kisses him. Delighted surprise overtakes him and Joseph laughs into the kiss, throwing his arms around the best thing to ever happen to him. Barclay correctly takes this as a sign to pull him closer, his touches so full of affection and sheer, unbridled want that it takes Joseph a moment to realize the lights are back on. 

Barclay glances up and breaks into a grin warmer than an armchair by a fire, “Hey, looks like you did manage to give me something from a movie.” He points at the sprig of green hanging above them, “gotta say, kissing under the mistletoe definitely lives up to the hype.”

“Glad to hear it, big guy.” Joseph strokes Barclay’s beard, “but you really shouldn’t draw conclusions without additional evidence. Like how it feels to kiss other places in the house.”

He turns the car down a street of tall houses bejeweled in colored lights. As empty curb sides become scarce, he decides he must be close to the Owen’s house and pulls into the next empty space. A quick glance in the rear view mirror to straighten his tie and run a hand over his hair, and then he steps onto the sidewalk. 

431 Washington Drive is lit up even brighter than its neighbors, laughter and music reaching him while he’s still two houses away. He follows a pair of young women in red and white dresses up to the door and smiles at Mrs. Owens as she welcomes him in. 

“Joseph! Oh I’m so glad you made it, Louisa was just telling me how terrible the traffic is tonight.”

“It wasn’t too bad, and I was looking forward to tonight too much to miss it.” 

She takes his coat and hangs it by the door, then waves for him to follow her into the living room. A table sporting more food than a grocery store sits against the far wall, a tall, tastefully decorated tree stands in the corner, and the fireplace crackles beneath the clinking of glasses. 

He’s only fifteen minutes late, but pairs and quartets are already forming, and as he walks to where Alex Owens is tending the bar, he counts the number of women eyeballing the room with the same searching gaze he is and doesn’t love his odds when it comes to meeting his true love tonight. 

“Finally decided to try your luck huh?” Mr.Owens slides a martini glass to the man on Joseph’s left, “This is Joe, used to work at the Presidio with me. Joe, this is Rick, Jerry, and, oh, Cynthia, come over here” he waves until a woman with brown curls and a green dress joins them, “this is Joe, the guy I was telling you about. He’s real swell, plus” Owens pats his shoulder, “he’s the real deal; got a medal of honor and everything.”

Cynthia casts an interested smile his way, “You must have done something very brave.”

“I don’t understand. I thought we weren’t involved with the war?”

The man on the other side of the desk looks at Joseph as if he’s a child who still believes in fairies, “We are not at this time. But we have to take all possible measures to be sure we’re prepared for all possible outcomes. And you come recommended to us by the head of our Japanese translation project.”

Well, that confirms his theory that the program isn’t just to train people for diplomatic purposes. 

“Tell me, Mr. Stern, how many languages do you speak?”

“Four, sir, if we count English. Then it’s German, Japanese, and Korean.”

“An interesting combination.”

“I learned two from my family, and Japanese from a neighbor who used to babysit me-”

“And you’re confident in your ability to speak all these languages as well as a native?”

“Yes. If you’re in need of translation in other languages I’m certainly happy to help.”

The man across the table looks at him again. Joseph looks at the desk, searching for any sign of what the man’s name is.

“We need people who are willing to enter German-controlled territory. Including people who could pose as Japanese allies of Germany. Something you could do easily.”

Joseph wants to point out the flaws in that assumption but decides not to get into an argument with someone who seems like he could make him disappear. 

“Are you asking me to be a spy?”

“Perhaps.”

“I, I suppose I’m flattered, sir, but I’m just a nobody clerk who happens to be good with languages.”

The man stands, opens a drawer, and slides a manila folder across the table. Joseph opens it to find five, familiar names on immigration visas.

“Am I correct, Mr. Stern, that those are your family members who fled Germany?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve tried everything we can to get them out, they’re stuck in France and my mother and grandparents are worried sick.”

The man looks at him and he understands how a fly must feel in a web.

“If you accept our offer, those visas will be issued tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid my work overseas is still classified.” He plasters on a smile, “Besides, I’m sure you’re much more interesting than all that ancient history.”

Over the next thirty minutes, he proceeds to have some variation of this conversation four separate times. Each woman he chats with is perfectly nice, and two seem to think he’s very charming, but nothing compels him to keep talking other than the sense it’s what he should do. 

He excuses himself to the punch bowl, internally cursing Owens for telling everyone his name is Joe. He’s Joseph, Joseph Stern, serial number–

No, none of that tonight. Breaking down and ruining someone’s nice Christmas mixer is the antithesis of being polite. 

He’s distracted enough getting his mind right that he doesn’t notice the hand going for the ladle alongside his own. 

“Oh!” He pulls it back with a start, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I was busy making sure the record didn’t need to be flipped.” An apologetic smile parts and auburn tinged beard and Joseph’s tongue forgets how to make words.

How did he not notice him before? How has the whole room not noticed him and devoted their attention to him? The man is actually taller than him, with hair the same color as his beard and full lips that Joseph wants to sink his teeth into. His deep brown eyes remind Joseph of coffee, warm and soothing as they glitter with the lights from the tree. It’s only when they blink, concerned, that Joseph realizes he’s been staring. 

“No harm done. Here, let me get some for us both.” He ladles out two glasses, passes one over and extends his hand, “I’m Joseph.”

“Barclay.” The hand around his own is warm and big, god what a man could do with hands like that, “are you, uh, enjoying the party?”

“Yes. But between you and me,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “so far the food is my favorite part.”

“Really? Did you have a favorite?” 

“Those little slices with the salmon mousse. Or the round cookies, those ones, I think they’re called wedding cookies-”

“Uhuh, that one’s an old family recipe.”

“You made them?”

“I made everything except the dips. Mrs. Owens reigns over those let me tell you..”

Joseph stares at the veritable feast of small bites, “All the rest? God, it’d take me a week to do all this.”

Barclay’s smile turns shy, “Nah, it’s not all that hard. A lot of rolling deli meat and sticking toothpicks in things.” His voice is so deep Joseph wants to dive into it and never surface. 

“Mrs. Owens should still count herself lucky that you were around. Are you a friend of the family?” He steps away from the table to let others get a drink, and Barclay moves right along with him. 

“Yeah. I, um, I help them out with things like this.” Barclay stares into his glass and Joseph understands. 

“You’re from the program.”

Barclay winces, “Is it that obvious?”

“No. You were a suit better than anyone here.”

“Not sure that’s true.” Barclay gives him a pointed, appreciative look.

Joseph sips his drink with a smile, “What I mean is, I put it together from the fact you seem sort of separate from everyone even though every woman at this place should be flocking to you.”

Barclay goes pink and all Joseph can think about is chasing the color down his throat and across his chest with his tongue. Then the other man sighs, “Maybe they would, but you’re not the only one who pegged me. Turns out when they find out you did time, most people suddenly have somewhere else to be. You’re the only person who’s said more than two words to me after you worked it out.”

“From what I’ve seen, most people wind up in jail for things that pale in comparison to the real evil of the world.” (And if anyone talks down to Barclay in his earshot they’re getting a shiner that will last a week.”

Barclay raises his eyebrows, “Thought all that was classified.”

“You heard me say that?”

“No, Mrs. Owens was chatting with one of the other guests about it. Oh, here, do you want to sit down?” He tilts his elbow at the small couch near the tree, then moves a pillow out of the way so Joseph can sit first. 

“Yes, well, everyone is very interested in my time overseas.”

“What do you do now?”

His glass pauses halfway to his lips, “you’re the first person to ask that all night.”

Barclay frowns but continues waiting for his reply.

“I teach at the University in Berkeley. Languages, mostly,  for the college of applied arts.”

“Fuck, that sounds terrifying.” Barclay actually covers his mouth, “sorry, we’re not supposed to swear around company.”

Joseph shrugs, “I don’t give a shit”  This marks his greatest accomplishment of the week: making Barclay laugh.

“Now, what was that about my work being terrifying?”

“Having to stand in front of all those people, with all those eyes on you” he shudders, “And be ready to answer any question from people who are convinced they already know everything? No, thank you.”

“I’d say it helps to picture everyone naked but it really doesn’t.”

“Hmm, I guess picturing yourself naked doesn’t work any better.”

“No, but I do have a dream like that at least once a week.”

“Freaky. I have one about trying to make a souffle with only an apron for cover. Which I guess could be scarier if, like, I was cooking bacon or deep frying something.”

Joseph snickers to distract himself from the idea of Barclay in nothing but an easily yanked off apron. 

“Do you cook for a living?”

“Yeah, I’m over at Bettys in Berkeley. Spent most of my life cooking at Amnesty Lodge but, uh, the whole” he mimes a key locking a door, “took me away from there.

“It’s not in the city?”

“Nah, it’s a couple hours up the coast. Have you ever gone up there?”

“From what I hear I’m a bit too square for that neck of the woods.”

Barclay moves a centimeter close, “If you ever wanna go, you can take a ride with me. I’ll make sure no one razzes you too bad.”

The conversation winds here and there, stopping only so they can cede their seats to a couple that’s ten seconds from doing something indecent and to refill their plates. Joseph knows this isn’t what he’s here for, that at this point he doesn’t want to speak or even look at anyone beside Barclay for the rest of the night. 

Fuck it. There will be other singles mixers. Other parties. But there’s no guarantee Barclay will be at any of them. 

As they’re stepping onto the back porch for some air, they’re waylaid by another guest who wants to thank Joseph for his bravery and tell him about his brother who never came home. Joseph offers thanks and condolences in the appropriate order, then excuses himself to the darkest corner of the deck. Barclay joins him, taking a position that means Joseph isn’t immediately visible to people coming out of the house. 

Joseph’s nerves get the better of him, “Do you have a cigarette?” 

Barclay pulls a box from his inside pocket, “I don’t smoke, but having these is a great way to make all the other cooks like me if I’m somewhere new.”

Joseph takes one, leans in so Barclay can light it for him, protecting it from the ocean wind with his hand. 

He takes a drag, then sighs, “I barely do it anymore. But sometimes I…well, I guess it’s this or running screaming into the hills.” 

Barclay tucks the packet away with a sympathetic expression. 

Joseph exhales, leaning his arms on the deck rail, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.” Barclay mimics his pose, so close their forearms rest against each other and Joseph tries to burn the memory of that feeling into his mind. 

“A lot of my work isn’t classified. I just don’t want to talk, or think, about any of it ever again.”

Barclay gently brushes their hands together, “Why tell a nobody cook that?”

Joseph looks at him and says, with more conviction than he’s felt about anything in months, “Because you aren’t a nobody. You’re talented at what you do, you talk about the people you love like you actually love them, and I haven’t felt so safe, so happy, around someone in a long, long time.”  Reality creeps in from the darkness and sighs, “maybe that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so.” Barclay’s voice is barely a whisper, but his eyes burn with something hopeful and fragile. 

He crushes out the cigarette and straightens, “You said you lived on the Oakland border. Can I give you a ride home?”

“If it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Not even close.”

“Then yeah, that’d be swell.”

Joseph smiles, “In that case, let’s agitate the gravel, as the kids say.”

He thanks the Owens’ for a lovely time, explains he’s offering Barclay a ride so he doesn’t have to worry about buses and railcars so late at night. As he steers the Chrysler onto the main road, Barclay fiddles with the radio until Peggy Lee croons about winter weather. Joseph steals glances of Barclay’s profile bathed in the lights of town all the way across the bay. 

“Would you like to stop at my place for coffee? We don’t have to, I could-”

“I’d love to.” Barclay smiles almost flirtatiously in the dark cab. 

There are two parties going on further down the street when he pulls into his driveway, but all the houses immediately surrounding his are dark. Barclay follows him inside, offering genuine compliments to his decor as Joseph starts the coffee.

“Oh damn, are those fruit trees?” Barclay peers out a window to the back yard.

“A lemon, two pears, and an apple. I planted them when I bought this place.”

“Seems kinda big for just you. Or do you split it with someone?”

He shakes his head, “Just me. I bought it thinking I’d be married within a year. Four years ago.”

“You ever thought about a roommate in the meantime? I must get lonely.” Barclay sounds concerned, as if he finds the idea of Joseph spending day after day padding through an empty house feeling like a ghost genuinely distressing. 

He glances at Barclay, “I’m considering it.”

Barclay nods, manages to locate the cups on his first try and pulls two down. 

“Barclay? You don’t have to tell me but…what were you arrested for.”

The cook runs his thumb along the handle of a blue mug, “Forgery. But not, uh, not money. Me and a few other people made fake visas to get people out of Germany. Before the war even really started. We got away with it for a while but then something went wrong and we got found out. I took the blame for the whole operation; I didn’t want my friends going to jail. And I, I figured if they could reform the group, they could maybe get more people out.” He chuckles, “only reason I didn’t do even more time was my friend sprung for a really good lawyer.”

Joseph turns the coffee pot off and steps towards him, “I’m going to ask something else. You can say no if you want but if you do please don’t tell anyone what I asked.”

“O-kay?”

“Can I kiss you?”

The apprehension evaporates from Barclay’s face, “Fuck, thought you’d never ask.” He reaches out and drags Joseph to him by his lapels. It’s a lightning strike, his whole body alive and burning in ways he’s never felt. He wants to feel it forever, do it forever, even if all that’s left at the end is his ashes. 

His hands find Barclays hair and burrow into it, clinging to him even as the cook pulls back.

“You’re giggling, baby.”

“It’s, it’s the beard. It actually tickles.”

Barclay smirks, “You usually take your men clean shaven?”

“I….I usually don’t take men at all. Not for lack of wanting to just, for so long if anyone found out they’d fire me or stop trusting me and there was a lot, and I mean a lot riding on me succeeding.”

“If this is gonna get you in trouble-”

“I know there are at least two men in my department who are living together and are as good as married. They’ve taught there for years. But more importantly” he cups Barclay’s face, “I do not fucking care. I’ve given so much for so many people and right now I want to take the one goddamn thing in the world I want.”

Barclay growls playfully, “You’re a real smooth talker, baby. Let you take me any time, anywhere.”

“Bedroom. Now.”

The cook laughs as Joseph drags him down the hall and flicks on his light. When he reclines on the bed, hands behind his head and rumbles, “how do you want me?” Joseph pauses. 

“I…I don’t know. Shit, I have no idea how to do this.”

“Not like there’s a rulebook.” Barclay holds out his hand, guides Joseph to sit on the bed once he takes it, “all I know is I wanna make you feel like a fucking king. After that, everything else is just icing on the cake.”

Joseph glances at the zipper of Barclay’s fly, “Could I blow you?”

“Do you really want to?”

“Yes, badly.”

Barclay quickly undoes his pants and struggles to get his jacket off as Joseph yanks them down to his ankles. His cock is soft beneath his underwear and feels perfect in his hand as he cups it. He’s jerked off plenty, so he uses that as his starting point, rubbing and stroking the shaft until it hardens in his hand. Barclay is already coming undone, has given up on unbuttoning his shirt to tug at the blankets and make pleading grabs in Joseph’s direction. 

“Good?” He smirks as a harder stroke makes Barclay yelp and buck his hips. 

“Uhhuh, so good, aces, baby, baby, fuck you could keep doing that and I’d be in fucking heaven.”

“Not a chance, big guy.” He rubs lazy circles around the head of Barclays cock, pre-cum collecting on his thumb, “you’re in my house and I get to do whatever I want to you.”

Barclay moans loud and long, thrusting into Joseph’s grip.

“And what I want is to blow you until you’re a sobbing mess. Is, is that alright? Talking like that?”

“Do not stop I swear to god.”

He laughs, scooching back so he can lay between Barclay’s legs, “Noted, big guy.” He studies the cock before him, concocting a dozen plans of approach before throwing them all aside and taking as much of it down his throat as he can. 

“Fuck!” Barclay’s thighs tense beautifully on either side of him, “oh god, Joseph-”

“Hands on the blanket, I don’t want you mussing my hair.” He’s not sure why he says it, only that there’s a double thrill in his chest as he does and as Barclay obeys instantly. He licks a stripe up his cock, then returns his attention to the head, sucking and swirling his tongue in whatever ways elicit the most intense reactions from the man beneath him.

“J-Joseph, I’m really close, I, should I-”

“You’re not cumming on me unless you earn it. I can’t stand messes.” He sits up, grabbing the handkerchief from his inside pocket, “so tonight-”

“AH, ahgod, ohfuck” Barclay grins as Joseph jerks him off, “fuck baby that’s so fucking hotah.” He cums in the dark fabric, panting out thank yous as Joseph takes the time to wipe his whole cock clean. Next time he’ll do it with his tongue, assuming Barclay is very good and earns his reward. 

“Please let me touch you?” The request is shy, almost hesitant, and so Joseph takes time to kiss Barclay on each cheek and his gorgeous mouth before standing to take off his slacks. 

“Of course, big guy. How do you want me?”

“Uhhhhh” Barclay stares at Joseph’s cock poking out from under his shirt, “Uh, I mean, can, can you straddle my chest?”

Joseph settles his knees on either side of Barclay. Then his hands whack into the wall as the cook strokes his cock. 

“Wanted to see you like this all night.” Barclay murmurs, free hand reaching up for Joseph’s face, “want to see you every way there is. God, how did none of those gals scoop you up and run off with you. You look like a fucking movie star.”

“Barclay” It’s a whimper, the compliments seeping into his skin to warm him. 

“I wanna make you happy, be so good you’ll wanna, wanna stay in bed all day, fuck, I’m babbling I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, god that’s good.”

Barclay sits up enough to lick the head of his cock, “that’s it baby, relax for me, let go, I’m here, gonna take such good care of you.” Another lick and he’s done for, cumming with a surprised gasp across Barclay’s face. 

He looks down at the cook, who’s wearing a pleased grin.

“I misspoke earlier. I do like something of mine messy: you.”

Barclay laughs, dragging him down into a hug even as he tries to help him clean his face, “I call bullshit on you never doing this before. You’re apple butter smooth to the last.”

“I really haven’t. All that just now I, I didn’t know I had it in me. But being with you made it seem so easy.”

“No kidding.” Barclay chuckles as Joseph uses his sleeve to clean the last of the cum, “hard to find a guy who’ll boss me around but still take care of me. Believe me, I tried.”

“Glad I could provide.”  Joseph rests his head on Barclay’s chest, peace washing over him in unfamiliar waves. 

He’s eighteen, has snuck off into the forest to smoke with some friends. Friends who have all gone home while he decided to chill a while longer under the starry sky. Trouble is, now he’s a little turned around and the calm fog in his mind is giving way to some serious paranoia. 

After what feels like ten hours of wandering in circles, he slumps down against a tree, resting his head on the trunk. Bark scratches his scalp as he looks up into the branches. 

Something in the branches looks down. Something with glowing red eyes and dark wings. 

“Uh. Hey there, Mr. Mothman. Are you gonna eat me? You’re not gonna eat me, right?”

The creature above him holds perfectly still. 

“Man, I know you’re there. Trees don’t have fuckin eyes. Are you tryin to lay in wait like a, a trapdoor spider but in the trees? A treedoor spider? Oh, oh fuck, if moths can get this big who says spiders can’t? Fuck, I’m gonna be eaten by a man-sized trapdoor spider and my parents are gonna find a husk wearin’ my jeans.”

Silent wingbeats carry the cryptid to the ground. Duck tries to back away, forgetting he’s against a tree, and bangs his head into the wood. 

“Owfuck”

“It is alright.” The mothman holds out two of his four hands, “I am not going to hurt you. And I assure you there are no Spidermen in these woods. My understanding is those only exist in comic books.”

“Fuck yeah, those are so fuckin cool.”

“Please focus. While you are in no immediate danger, it is unwise to be wandering the dark woods in your state and you seem to be a ways from your home.”

Duck groans, “Fuck, I really went the wrong way didn’t I?”

“Indeed. But that is not unfixable, Duck Newton. If you would like, I can escort you back to the edge of town.” He offers two hands and Duck takes them, standing and then faceplanting into a mass of downy chest feathers. 

“Fuuuuuuuck you’re soft. Like a big fluffy cloud.”

A strange little chirr from above him, “You are very kind to say so. Come, your home is this way.”

As they walk, Duck glances up at the cryptid, his already considerable height made taller by his feathery antenna.

“How’d you know my name?”

“I can see the future, and therefore I saw the timeline where you introduced yourself.”

“Damn, so all that stuff about seeing disaster is true.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Wait, does that mean Kepler is in danger?”

“No” The cryptid links their arms together to navigate him over a tangle of roots, “I am on my way to deal with another matter and stopped here for the night.”

“You just…sleep in the woods? In the cold and everything?”

“I cannot exactly walk into a hotel like this. I have a human form but the charm that allows me to use it was damaged on my way here. Thus my night in the trees.”

Duck leans against him, “You wanna crash on my floor? My folks are out for the night and Jane’s at a friends.”

The mothman  stops, looking down at him with surprise, “There was no future where you offered that.”

“Just kinda came to me a second ago.”

“I…thank you, but no, I think it best if I stay out of sight.”

Duck shrugs, idly pets a chitinous arm and talks about things he doesn’t remember the next day until the lights of town peek through the trees. 

“Here you are.”

“Thanks. You sure you don’t wanna sleep somewhere warm? No one’ll see you but me and the dog.” 

The mothman cocks his head, wide smile spreading across his face, “You are a kind-hearted man, Duck. I foresee that serving you well. All the same, I must decline.” A clawed hand reaches out, plucking a stray leaf from Duck’s hair, “Take care, Duck Newton.”

Duck says he will, starts down the hillside into the light radiating from the back of the Kroger. When he turns back to wave, mothman is still there and raises one, spindly arm to awkwardly return the farewell. 

He never told anyone. And he sure as fuck wasn’t about to start with some random group of people at a work training. 

The storm only worsens as he hits Point Pleasant, and he does take his hand off the wheel to tip his hat to the Mothman statue. When he pulls up in front of Jane’s house, only the porchlight is on. Removing his phone from his pocket reveals four missed calls from his little sister. He keeps the car running as he calls her back. 

“Hey, sorry I missed you, I was drivin’. Everythin’ okay?”

“Yes, in that we’re all happy and healthy. No, in that the weather is so bad every flight out of Denver is grounded.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah that about sums it up. I mean, Wade’s folks are happy to have us stay a few more days, but everything say it’ll be at least two before anyone can get out of here. If you wanna go back to Kepler and wait until we know when we’re gonna be back, I totally get it.”

“Nah, I’m happy to stay here and hold down the fort. Y’all take care, okay?”

His sister is cut off by one of his nephews yelling in the background, only having time to give him a quick “bye” before she’s gone. 

He steps out of the car, going straight for the trick rock with the spare key. It’s not there. When he calls Jane to ask if she moved it, she hisses out several curses and says, “we changed the locks and I took it inside to put the new spare in. I must have left it.”

“S’okay, I’ll figure somethin out.”

His “somthing” ends up being driving to several hotels only to find them all booked up. Walking out of hotel number three, he decides to save himself a drive and just start calling them. As the nice young man on the other end explains that they’re all full because of the storm and the holidays, he spots a Holiday Inn across the road and starts for the crosswalk. 

Ice paffs into the back of his head, too hard to be accidental. 

“Fuck! No, sorry, not you, someone just hit me with a snowball.” He turns in search of the culprit and finds a tall man in a thick, black coat and red glasses staring at him. When he notices Duck glaring at him, he holds up one finger, as if telling him to wait. 

Brakes screech behind him and he whirls as a giant pick-up skids through the red light, spinning through the crosswalk he would have been in had he not been stopped.

He hangs up the phone, waving and mouthing a thank you to the stranger. The stranger waves back, smiling as he does. He’s ninety percent sure It’s a wave and smile he’s seen before. He glances back at the Holiday Inn in time to see the “No” appear next to “vacancy.”

When he looks around, he spots the stranger heading away from the center of town and jogs after him, compelled by nothing more than gratitude and the growing certainty he recognizes him. 

“Hey, uh, wait, I just wanted to say-” Duck only means to touch the man's arm, but a hidden patch of ice causes him to slip forward and grab it instead. When the other man spins, surprised, his glasses slip down to reveal red, glowing eyes. 

“Mothman?” Duck whispers.

A slender finger pushes the glasses back into place, “I do not know what you’re talking about. My name is Indrid Cold.”

“So, what, you just randomly guessed that truck was gonna hit me?”

“Maybe. Please let go of my arm.”

“Look, I could be totally wrong and if I am you can ignore me but…did you ever meet a guy named Duck Newton in the woods? When he was eighteen and stoned outta his mind?”

Indrid looks down at where Duck’s hand is still on his arm, “Yes.”

“Then he wants to thank you for saving his ass a second time.”

For a moment, Indrid’s face goes blank, and Duck is wondering if he needs to call an ambulance when the energy returns to it and he says, “And I would like to return the offer of a place to stay.”

“Holy fuck, really?”

“Yes, though we will need to take your car. If, if that is truly alright?”

“Hell yeah.”

Indrid follows him back to his Jeep, gives him detailed instructions as he slowly winds them out of town and into the woods. When the Jeep finally crunches to a stop, he frowns. 

“I don’t wanna be rude, but an abandoned TNT plant don’t seem all that cozy.”

“That all depends on how one approaches it.” Indrid grabs one of his bags while Duck hoists the other, following him to the side of one of the concrete slabs. The taller man sets his fingers on the stone. It glows orange for a moment, and then a door appears. Indrid opens it, gesturing for him to go on in. 

The interior of his house is like a basement rec room met a doomsday bunker and had a very cozy baby. There are massive beanbag chairs and a T.V, stacks of DVDs and books all over, and a shelf of boardgames that doesn’t seem to get quite as much use as the other entertainment options. Indrid snaps and a half-dozen space heaters kick on, the cryptid shedding his coat and heading to a pink beanbag. 

“Holy fuck, Indrid this place is incredible! Oh dang, I’ve got these at home too” He points to a string of chili-pepper lights above a bulletin board full of drawings, “Know they might be tacky but I can’t help it, I like ‘em.”

“I’d say that means you have excellent taste.”

Duck sits down on the beanbag across from him, “Do you really remember me?”

“Yes.” A new shade of pink crosses Indrid’s cheeks, “ah, relatedly, do you mind if I change forms.”

“It’s your house. Plus, now that I know you ain’t gonna eat me, don’t find you all that scary.”

Indrid removes his glasses. For a nanosecond, reality slows and the world warps. Then the mothman is once again sitting across from him, stretching his wings with a contented sigh. 

“Uh….have you always been white?”

“No. My kind change color during winter in order to camouflage in the snow.” Feathery white antenna twitch, “I think it makes me look like an oddly proportioned snowman.”

“Think you look more like first prize at a county fair.”

Indrid cocks his head and blinks. 

“Y’know, those big-ass plush animals that everyone is tryin’ to win?”

“Oh! Oh yes. I actually won one of those, a giant pineapple, in St. Louis. Foresight is very useful when playing games of chance.”

“I bet.” As he stretches out on the beanbag, his stomach gurgles, “damn, shoulda stopped for dinner on the way here.”

“I have ramen, macaroni and cheese, or some canned ravioli. Also lots of cereal, but I assumed you’d like something warm.”

Duck settles his hands on his stomach, “some ravioli would fuckin slap right now.”

Indrid grins and chirps, “I shall return.”

Four minutes and one microwave ding later, the cryptid returns with a bowl for Duck and a mug of eggnog for himself. They debate the finer points of different gas stations until Duck sets down his bowl and wipes his mouth.

“Indrid? Did you really invite me here just because I was nice to you years ago?”

A long tongue licks the last of the nog from the glass, “Yes and no. I do remember you, and it was rare for a human who met me to do anything other than panic, let alone invite me into their home. But I also foresaw that, while you would try your best, you would spend until your sister returned feeling lonely and blue. I knew I would also feel lonely, as I often do when cold weather forces me to stay inside as much. It seemed foolish to not at least offer an alternative where we kept each other company. And I, I thought” he taps the tips of his claws together, “I thought perhaps we could do Christmas things together? In the futures it seemed as if you had been looking forward to them.”

The simplicity of the idea, the fact Indrid, the fucking mothman, remembers their meeting as much as Duck does, and the soft hope in Indrid’s voice renders Duck speechless. 

Indrid’s wings flutter, “Or if you prefer, you can go back into town tomorrow and call a locksmith.”

Duck rolls onto his side, trying for a charming, collected grin, “Stayin with you seems like a lot more fun.”

Indrid grins and purrs, “wonderful.”

—--------------------------------------

“Whoo-boy, think I’m too fuckin old to sleep on beanbags.” Duck stretches out his back before taking the mug of coffee from Indrid. 

“Yes, it seems it would be wide to pick up an air mattress today. In the meantime, here.” Clawtips dig in delicious circles near his shoulder blades, “does that help.”

“Uh huh” Duck tips his head forward, groaning happily, “you oughta open Mothman Massage or somethin’; you’d make a killing and everyone would just think it was a tourist gimmick and not actually you.”

“It’s the noises that often give me away. Humans do not, generally speaking, trill when alarmed or chirp when happy.”

“True, but it just makes it cuter when you do it.”

Indrid’s feathers poof slightly, “That is sweet of you to say. Just let me get changed and then we can venture into the world.”

The storm isn’t any better, so they decide to only stop at Wal-Mart to avoid more chances to put the car into a snowbank. Duck grabs wrapping paper, the air mattress, and some cans of turkey soup with “holiday spices.”

“Anythin you wanna get?”

“Oh, nono, this trip is for you.” 

Duck turns, stepping close enough to Indrid that he can whisper, “this is your winter cheer too, mothman of mine. There ain’t anything you like to do this time of year?”

“I…I enjoy the lights. And cookies. And eggnog, but that was perhaps obvious.”

Thirty minutes later, they leave the superstore with several bags of food, six boxes of lights, and a tiny Christmas tree. When they get back to the TNT plant, Duck unpacks as Indrid finds a CD of Christmas music in one of his stacks. 

Duck takes point on the lights, stringing them across the lonelier corners of the room and running them up and over bookcases. Indrid pulls out a pad of origami paper and begins folding swans and moths and flowers, which he then pierces with a paperclip and hangs on the tree. He also demolishes two dozen cookies all on his own, while Duck contents himself with a box of big, chewing gingersnaps. 

His decorating scheme hits a snag when he can’t quite reach a hook in the corner  by Indrid’s bed to hang the last strand of lights on.

“Little help?”

Indrid removes his glasses, shaking out his wings as he stands. Instead of taking the lights, he lifts Duck like he’s no more than a stuffed animal, holding him up easily as he drapes the wire into place. 

“Thanks for the helpAH hey, watch it with the feathers, fluffball.” Duck cackles as Indrid tickles his neck.

“Who are you calling fluffball, little human?”

“You, fluffball.” Duck turns, begins running his hands through the feathers on Indrid’s chest, “fuck, how are these even softer than I remember? I didn’t think you could get any more stunnin’, but here we are.”

Indrid’s feathers begin poofing again, but he quickly shakes them back down and taps his claws together, “I, I have a confession. I do not remember you solely for your kindness. I was in that tree because I had seen you and thought you handsome, thought that dragging my tongue across your neck and running my fingers over your belly would be wonderful. I wanted to see how you would react to me but you saw me before I was ready. And then it was clear you were under the influence and so I changed my plan. But I never forgot it.”

Duck blushes, scratches the back of his neck, “Guess I was pretty cute back then.”

“You were. But you are just as wonderful to behold now.”

He looks up into red eyes. Then he raises on his tiptoes and plants a kiss on a fuzzy cheek, murmuring, “You’re sweet, sugar.”

Indrid poofs up completely and stays that way, chirping as Duck continues rubbing slow circles through his feathers.

“I’d always kinda hoped I’d see you again. Turns out the universe did me one better. I’m getting you know you, not just see you.” He pauses, “is this okay? You’re kinda vibrating.”

“I, rrrrr, am, rrrrrrrr, purrrrrrrrrrrrring.”

“Awww, my big ol’ feathery sugar. Come on” he tugs so they’re both sitting on Indrid’s bed, “let’s see how else I can make you purr.”

—------------------------------------------------

“Thanks so much again for rollin’ with all this.” Jane flops on the couch as Duck folds a mountain of laundry.

“It’s what big brothers are for, goofus. I was wondering, if it ain’t too much trouble, I got a, uh, friend in town who’s on his own for the holidays. Would it be okay if I invited him to dinner?”

“Long as it ain’t tonight, that’s fine.”

Indrid Cold, whose father owned half the city and the people in it. Indrid Cold, one half of a twin pair of sons never seen outside of their father’s shadow. Indrid Cold, who until yesterday was a suspect in his father’s murder.

“Going by your expression, I suspect I do not need to introduce myself.” The voice from those thin lips is lilting, nothing like the icicle sharp tone Joseph heard the one time he encountered his father and brother. 

“That’s right.”

“And am I speaking to Mr. Newton or Mr. Stern?” He cocks his head.

Joseph extends a hand, “Joseph Stern.”

Indrid shakes it with chilly fingers, “In that case, Mr. Stern, I require you and your partner’s help. Not in solving my father’s murder, as you are about to assume. The police are swarming about that business like so many ants.”

“And you trust them to solve it?”

“To be frank, my interest in the culprit extends only to whether they are someone who would like me dead as well. Which is where you come in. You and Mr.Newton will serve a dual function; you will join me at my home in the mountains to provide a degree of security. And you will work out who tried to shoot me two days ago.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “You seem very confident we’ll take the case. Even though it carries a non-zero chance of being shot and attaching ourselves to potentially one of the biggest scandals of the decade.”

“It will be worth your while. I can pay a hundred dollars a day to each of you, and cover any expenses. Then there’s the fact you’ll have room and board during your stay, and the twenty thousand I’ll pay if you find out who attempted to cut my life short.”

He keeps his face flat and says nothing; it’s a tempting offer, more money in one job than they make in a year. But there’s a gnawing in his stomach, one he’s learned the hard way to not ignore. 

Indrid removes his glasses, cleaning them on his sleeve, “You are also likely to take it because of your, shall we say, disreputable pasts. The ones that mean even with all your skills and successes, Mr. Newton has to work evenings as bouncer at some unsavory establishments and you yourself must take the occasional job that’s no more than being a glorified peeping tom. The pasts that are the reason I am bringing this job to you” amber eyes meet his own and Joseph sees his calm for what it truly is; a rabbit holding stone-still under the gaze of a hawk, certain it’s about to be eaten. 

“Your father paid off or pissed off all the cops and respectable detectives?”

“Precisely.” The glasses slot back into place, “I need help. You can provide it, or you can go back to taking pictures through windows. What shall it be?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You sure we ain’t passed it?” Duck cranes his neck as Joe steers them around yet another hairpin turn in the San Gabriel’s. 

“Positive. He said the gate is ‘impossible to miss.’”

“Someone must be really pissed if they hauled ass all the way out here to try and off him.”

“Apparently it happened in the city; he was on his way back from the police station. The friend who was with him, Mr. Cobb, saw the gun in the reflection of a store window and dragged him down behind a car.”

“We gonna get the chance to confirm that with the guy?”

“We should. He lives with Mr. Cold full time as a cook. Aha, finally.” The car slows in front of a twelve foot tall iron gate with flames twisted into the metalwork. Joe hits the intercom and after a moment the shining mouth of the estate opens. The house itself isn’t quite a mansion, but it sure as hell isn't a cozy cottage for two. 

As they wait in it’s shadow for someone to open the front door, a gust of wind makes them both shudder. 

“Damn, forget how cold it gets up here. Who knows, slick, maybe you’ll finally get some snow.”

“Maybe.” Joe’s hands are in his pockets and he knows without looking that he’s worrying his palms with his nails. Duck doesn’t blame him for being nervous; stepping into the Cold’s orbit is like shoving your hand into a rattlesnake burrow and hoping nothing bites

The door opens on a man who towers over the six foot tall Joe. His short beard and shaggy hair are both auburn, his clothes are sensible outdoor wear, and there’s dirt under his nails. 

Duck likes him instantly. 

“Come on in, Indrid’s expecting you. I, uh, I’m Barclay” he holds out a large hand for each of them to shake in turn. Joe’s cheeks are pinker than they were a moment ago and Duck fights back a laugh; Joseph Stern may swear he’s straight, but put him near a big man with a soft voice and a sweet smile and he goes rose-colored. 

“Ah, I am glad you found the house. It’s so far into the hills that even I sometimes fear I’ve somehow gone past it.”

See, this is why Duck didn’t snicker at Joe’s little blush. Because now he’s staring up a staircase at Indrid Cold and his heart is bouncing like a dog at a stick. The newspaper photos don’t do him justice, don’t convey how his strange features meld together into something Duck never wants to look away from. 

Indrid shakes their hands and shows them to their room, Barclay helping them with their luggage as clouds darken the windows. Their room is bigger than the apartment above their office, with two, huge beds instead one murphy bed and one couch that they alternate sleeping on. 

“The house is yours to wander as you need, and you’re welcome to ask Barclay or myself for assistance should you need it. As I told Mr. Stern, it’s just Barclay and myself here.” He taps his fingers together, “will you be needing anything from us this afternoon?”

“You mind giving us a little tour so we can get a lay of the land?” Duck tosses his hat on the bed as Joseph carefully hangs his on a hook.

“Oh! Of course, a very good idea. Right this way.”

As Indrid leads them through the cavernous house, Duck is struck by how different it is from its sleek, dull exterior. The rooms are painted bright colors, there’s stunning art on every wall, and even the Christmas tree is decked in pink and gold. The garden is a bit overrun, but there’s a swimming pool and a row of climbing vines positioned near the house. When Duck comments on them being a good choice for the climate, Indrid smiles. 

“Thank you. I’m afraid I rather pestered the gentleman at the garden store working out which things could actually thrive here.” He looks out over the covered rose bushes, “this has been ‘my’ house ever since I turned eighteen. Apollo laid claim to the house on the beach, and my father always preferred his penthouse in the city. I find the woods inspire me, don’t you.”

Duck smiles wistfully, “Yeah, I really do.”

When the tour ends, Indrid excuses himself to work on his art until dinner. Duck and Joe use that same span of time to unpack. His partner is quiet, which means he’s thinking, and Duck lets him. 

Dinner is a simple pot roast that he crams into his face faster than is polite. Which is better than Joe does; he full on moans when he takes a bite, causing Barclay’s eyes to widen comically before he collects himself. 

By the time they say goodnight, Indrid has been at his side most of the evening, asking him questions and seeming fascinated by his knowledge of plants, which may be the most good it’s done him in years. 

“Try not to get too friendly.” Joe says as he removes his tie.

Duck locks the bedroom door, “I’m just bein’ polite. We’re their guests. Besides, thought you said Indrid had been officially cleared as a suspect by the cops.”

“He has, but we both know that means very little.” His partner sighs, “we should stay close to them when possible, both to fulfill the bodyguard end of the agreement and see if we can learn what’s going on here. Just…just be careful, okay? Alistair Cold didn’t get where he was without manipulation, and I’d bet he passed those skills to his sons. Which means the line between ‘useful close’ and ‘dangerous close’ with Indrid Cold is thin.”

Joe has a point, but he’s using that voice that makes Duck feel like his partner thinks he’s nothing more than a clueless hick. Which is why all he says is, “Don’t worry slick, I won’t let anyone know you’re jealous that someone else is gettin’ my attention.”

The other detective fixes him with a stern stare, “Go to hell.”

“Gonna go do some rounds instead. Make sure the place is secure.” He tips a hat that isn’t there and steps into the hall. 

As he double checks doors and windows (including testing that his key matches all the locks; Indrid swore only himself, Barclay, and the two detectives had keys to his new locks, but Duck wants to be sure), his thoughts keep wandering back upstairs to Joe. They’ve been partners for two years, and he’s damn grateful that he got paired with a guy whose brain puts Einstein to shame and a face that’d make Cary Grant jealous. He just wishes Joe weren’t wound so tight he can hear his bones cracking. 

And at least three times a week, he wishes he could slap him. Not because he’s mad at him or wants him to suffer. Because he bets those blue eyes would look even better all teary and that Joe would cry out and moan so sweetly when he did it. And then he’d let Duck do more, give him the green light to do every vicious, indulgent thing he’s been too scared to ask for until the other man is a bruised, bitten, fucked-out mess. 

He pads into the living room, stops when he sees two figures asleep on the couch. Indrid stirs, letting out a sleep mumble, before turning to bury his face in Barclays chest. Duck creeps backward to let the lovers be. He’s glad they have each other. 

Because in his fantasies, when the debauchery is done, all he wants is to pull Joe into that too-tiny bed of theirs and hold him until dawn. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Christmas carols drift from the record player downstairs as Indrid sits in bed, sketching the images of a dream before they fly away. This will be the first Christmas he can remember without endless holiday parties and people sending him lavish gifts that always came with favors to fulfill, without his father hissing for him to act normal and Apollo mocking him every chance he gets. 

It’s the best Christmas ever, even accounting for the probability of being shot. 

Then again, that probability has led to two more charming, handsome men under his roof, which softens the sting. Joseph, gorgeous as he is, still seems wary– of him, and of everything–Indrid understands the sentiment and so tries not to begrudge him his caution. He also walked into the kitchen last morning to find the detective and Barclay having an animated discussion about movies, so maybe one day he’ll see them as friends and not suspects. 

Then there’s Duck, sturdy and understated in his many charms. Indrid would do a great many things for a peek at what’s beneath his slacks and would murder someone for one kiss of that crooked smile.

A knock on the door and a drawl asking if he’s up. 

“One moment.” He stands and, curious as to what will happen, reaches for a thin, short, silk robe instead of the heavy one he wears most days, “alright, you can come in.”

Duck opens the door, “Mornin’, I was wondering if…if uh, if we could, uh.” His eyes are fixed on Indrid’s legs. He can feel them staying there as he wanders to his dresser in search of a water glass. 

“Is there something you wanted to discuss?” Indrid tries not to smile as Duck’s reflection actually shakes itself back into focusing. 

“Yeah, uh, I wanted to go back over the orders you made for the locks. From what you’ve told me about your brother, I think we oughta check to see if there was any way another key was made or if someone sent him the lock diagrams so he could have one made on his own. 

It’s a good idea, but Indrid is more relieved by the fact Duck takes his suspicion of Apollo seriously. His twin was the golden child, respectable and capable of convincing a man in the desert to buy sand, while Indrid was a scraggy black sheep following behind him. 

He turns, takes his time coming toe to toe with Duck, “An excellent idea. I see why the clients of yours I spoke to recommend you so highly.”

Duck blushes, “Heh, Joe’s really the brains. I’m just the muscle.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree. Even if the muscle in question is spectacular.” He reaches out, running a finger up Duck’s chest. 

Warm hands catch his wrist and palm, “Sorry, sugar, no can do.”

“Ah.” He steps back, drawing the robe around him, “that’s alright. I do not blame you for not being interested.”

Strangely, Duck steps forward instead of back, “It ain’t that. I got a rule: I don’t sleep with clients. No matter how cute they are. Helps keep things from getting messy.”

“Sensible.”

Duck smiles gently, “Besides, wouldn’t Barclay be mad I was makin’ time with his fella?”

Indrid shakes his head, “We have an…understanding. Barclay has been in my life since we were children, and been my lover for  over ten years. He knows that even if my heart and eyes find others, that will not change that I’m his.”

Duck steps closer, guiding Indrid’s robe back up his shoulder, “He’s a lucky fella.”

He’s about to say they both are when there’s a tremendous crash from downstairs. They take one look at each other and then run for the door. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He shouldn’t have let his guard down. 

Barclay knows why Indrid brought the detectives into the house, and he’s willing to put up with a lot to never have to hear a gunshot that close ever again. But something about Stern in particular made him anxious, like he was a hunter and Barclay was a beast lumbering in the woods. Even his polite demeanor,handsome face, and earnest praise of Barclay’s cooking couldn’t cover for that. 

Then, a few nights ago, he’d been unable to sleep and came down to find Stern in the living room in the same predicament. In the light of one, shaded lamp, the detective seemed to fade away, leaving a tired, charming man in his place. They played chess until Barclay nearly fell asleep in his chair. After that, Joseph sought him out more often and Barclay let himself be found. 

They were chatting about movies as he worked on the bread for dinner when he’d asked if Joseph had seen The Fugitive with Henry Fonda. 

“No, westerns aren’t quite my thing.” Joseph pauses mid-sip, “that’s the one you two saw the night Alistair Cold was killed.”

“Yep. Hell of a thing to come home from the movies to find the cops at your door.”

“I’d imagine.” The cup thunks onto the table, “You know, when I spoke with the ticket girl at the theater, she said she remembered you buying tickets alone.”

Fuck. Did Joseph bring up movies just to maneuver him into this conversation?

Barclay  turns from the dough and crosses his arms, “I know what you’re getting at. And yeah, I know you and every private eye from here to San Francisco could point out that it’s really fucking convenient Indrid and I are each other’s alibis. But all that happened is that Indrid was running late, so I bought two and waited in the lobby for him.”

Joseph stands, ostensibly to refill his cup, but all it does is bring him closer to Barclay, “Which means that the witness statements saying they saw you and Indrid leaving the theater when the movie was over don’t mean as much. You could have waited for Indrid in that lobby for quite awhile.

“I could have, but I didn’t. Look, Joseph, I know better than anyone else that Indrid had all the reason in the world to bump off his dad, and that’s before we get to how much he and Apollo are gonna inherit. I also know that there’s one Cold twin capable of killing someone and it isn’t Indrid.”

The detective meets his eyes, “I’d say you’re not the most impartial party when it comes to the Cold brothers. Especially since Apollo doesn’t strike me as the kind to fuck the help.”

A thousand memories flare up in him and he snarls, grabbing Joseph’s shirt and spinning them so the detective is slammed against the counter. Flour dusts the air and the coffee cup shatters on the floor as he brings them nose to nose. 

“If you think for a goddam second that Apollo is harmless and Indrid is a threat, your skull is so thick I could smash it onto the counter and you’d be fine.”

Joseph just looks at him, and for all the blush in his cheeks he looks utterly unafraid. Barclay realizes he didn’t mean a single word of his comment about the help; he was doing it to see how Barclay reacted. To see if his feelings for Indrid could make him into a mad dog.

Two sets of footsteps skid into the kitchen, but he’s not ready to let go.

“Barclay, what on earth?”

“Blue eyes here is really fucking sure you’re the bloodthirsty one and not Apollo.”

Duck’s eyes flick between Barclay and his partner, “You’d better let go of him or he’s gonna start thinking you did it.”

Barclay releases his grip and steps back. Joseph brushes the flour from his shirt, perfectly unruffled. 

“Joseph, I have been over the events of that evening with you three separate times. And that’s not to mention that the police have confirmed my story.”

“Police can be bribed.” Stern straightens his cuffs. 

“Oh for–is that what this is about?” Duck rubs his forehead, “yeah, Joe, they lie all the time. But you and I both know that there’s no way Indrid or Barclay coulda been anywhere near the murder.”

“But-”

Duck shakes his head, “Nope, I no for a damn fact you ain’t slept well the last two nights, and it’s startin to show. Go to bed.”

“No.” Joseph tries to pass Duck, only for Duck to grab his arm.

“Barclay, gimme a hand.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph tries to pull away but Duck doesn’t let go. 

“You won’t be good and go on your own, we’ll take you.” He tips his head and Barclay gets the hint, grabbing Joseph’s other arm and starting to pull. He’s not big on manhandling people, but it’s satisfying to half-drag the pissed-off detective back up the stairs. 

He and Duck let go once they’re in the bedroom, though Duck continues blocking the doorway as he says, “Get some sleep. And if you can’t fuckin stay put, I’ll cuff you to the bed.”

Joseph’s cheeks go redder even as his expression stays flat, “That seems like overkill.”

“Then don’t make me do it.”

Joseph takes a deep breath, “I’m not trying to insult either of you when I say this but: have you considered that being attracted to Indrid is clouding your judgment?”

“Nope. Why, is it cloudin’ yours?” Duck leans against the doorframe. 

“Fuck, Joseph, why are you so convinced it’s Indrid? You’re so desperate to pin it on him it’s like you murdered the guy.”

Joseph’s gaze darkens as it whips onto him.

“Get. out.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” Barclay throws up his hands and leaves, Duck shutting the door behind them, “what the fuck, did he actually kill someone?”

“No. But everyone thinks he did. See, Joe was on the force, was on his way to making detective there, there were even whispers that he’d be D.A eventually.” Duck’s steps slow, “you remember the Millicent Green murder case?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Joe was in charge of the investigation. Turns out it was her boyfriend. Not all that shocking, but he was was the police chief. Joe refused to back down, wouldn’t be paid to look the other way. So they hit him with accessory to murder on a smaller case and kicked him off the force. Only reason he didn’t land in jail is that the judge was on the level and threw out the case.”

“That was, in no small part, why I hired him.” Indrid meets them at the bottom of the stairs, “Joseph Stern could not be bought or beaten into going against his moral conscience. And I trusted he would choose a partner of a similar nature.” He glances at Duck. 

“Oh fuck, did the same thing happen to you?”

“Nah. Long story short, the state park I was workin’ at got shut down and turned into an orange grove. I needed cash and had to take some shitty jobs as hired muscle to get it. I actually met Joe throwin’ him out of The Black Swan. He has a way of makin’ people listen to him and the next thing I knew I was helpin’ him solve that case. When it was over he asked me to be his partner.”

Barclay looks back up at the second floor, “It just felt like I was talking to a different guy this morning. More…ruthless.”

“A trait which may come in handy if anyone does come after us.” Indrid muses.

“He can be that way sometimes. But he’s really a good guy. Great, if you can get the stick outta his ass.”

“Or put one there.” Barclay adds.

Duck snickers, “Never managed it, but not for lack of tryin’.”

They settle into their usual routine, Duck hanging around to sweep the kitchen and, Barclay realizes, make sure Barclay is really okay after his fight with Joseph. 

Barclay doesn’t see the taller detective again until well after dinner. Duck is doing a round of the house and Indrid is painting in his studio, so Barclay wanders into the kitchen to start on the dishes. What he finds is Joseph, sleeves rolled up and scrubbing away. 

“I’m so sorry about earlier.” Joseph must know it’s him by his footsteps, “I…I was trying to prove something to myself and forgot who was on the other side of the thing.” 

“Thanks.” Barclay joins him at the sink, “please don’t do that again. Act like you think there’s something wrong with Indrid for loving me, I mean.”

“I won’t.” 

Barclay squeezes his shoulder, feels him relax for a half second before the usual tension returns to the muscle. He grabs a towel from the cupboard. 

“Here, I’ll dry.”

—---------------------------------------------

This might be the glitziest Christmas morning Duck’s ever been part of. Barclay did some last minute decorating, so the whole living room is shiny with tinsel, the tree glowing like a heart in the corner. There’s a surprising number of presents beneath it, and when Duck sneaks a peek he finds that while most are addressed to Barclay, two are for him and two are for Joe.

Barclay is stretched out on the couch, reading, and Indrid moves through the room with a mug of eggnog in hand. He changes out the record, humming as a slow song crackles into the air. 

He reminds Duck of a moth, fluttering about the house at night, ethereal bearing barely concealing something fragile. Something that’s been flapping its wings against a storm for too long. 

Duck stands and offers his hand, “How about a dance, sugar?”

Indrid cocks his head, grinning, “And what about your rules?”

“Ain’t no harm in a dance.” 

Indrid takes his hands and, rather than keep a usual dancer's distance, presses against him. 

“You sure you wanna get that close? I got two left feet.”

“Can’t be any worse than me.” Barclay turns a page.

“Dearest, you are forgetting the time I once took out two waiters at a club with my movements.”

The cook chuckles, sets his book on the end table, “I’m gonna go check on Joseph. Kind of worried that he’s not down yet.”

“Let me” Duck spins Indrid off into Barclay’s arms, “he can get kinda morose on Christmas.”

When he gets to their room, Joe is fully dressed save for his shoes, laying on the bed with a book over his face. 

“You got somewhere to be slick?” 

“I’m trying to maintain professionalism.”

“You can let it slide for one day. C’mon, it’s real nice downstairs.”

“I’m sure it is, but you should get used to those scenes without me.”

“What?” Duck closes the door.

“Isn’t it obvious? Indrid and Barclay both like you. Once we’re done with this job, assuming we’re both still alive, they’ll probably keep you on as a bodyguard and send me home.” His voice is far away, like he’s still half in the book. 

“You’re not gettin rid of us that easily.” Duck teases as he nears the bed. 

“I don’t want to! But none of you will ever want me, not like I-” Joe slams the book across his mouth. 

“You better finish that sentence, slick.” Duck sets his hands on his hips but keeps his voice soft. 

Joe covers his face, “I want all three of you so badly. I, I think I might even be in love with you, Duck.”

He settles on the bed, “How long has this been goin’ on?”

“Six months, maybe more” Joe turns away from him, “I’m so sorry.”

Duck gently pets black hair, “You shoulda said somethin’ sooner. I mean, hell, we coulda been sharin’ a bed and freed up some space.”

A weak laugh, “would have been warmer too.”

It’s like coaxing a scared kitten from under the bed, getting Joe to look at him. His hands have to caress his jaw and trace circles on his cheek before he’ll turn to face him. 

“For a private eye, you can be real fuckin’ blind.” He leans in and kisses Joe as sweetly as he dares, catching a surprised gasp between his teeth. The hope is for Joe to climb into his lap, or pull him down to the mattress, but instead the other man collapses against him even as pleads to continue the kiss. 

“Easy slick, don’t want you droppin’ like a sack of laundry.”

“Easy? Nothing about this is easy, not when I’ve thought about crawling under your desk and blowing you every time I get a look at your thighs, not when wanting you, wanting the others, makes me feel like I’ll float away like a forgotten balloon. Please” he rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “please, I want it to be easy, but I don’t know how.”

Duck gets the best idea of his life and then kisses Joe’s forehead, “I do. Do you trust me?”

Blue eyes gleam in the dark, “with my life.”

“Then you’re gonna do what I, and what the other two, say. Yeah?”

“Yes” Joe drags him into another kiss, moaning when Duck bites his lip. 

“On your feet slick.” He sneaks his cuffs into his back pocket as Joe obeys. When they reach the door, his partner hesitates. 

“Are you sure they want me involved?”

“Positive. But also” he grabs the end of a blue tie and yanks, “you ain’t got a choice.”

Joe moans, footsteps unsteady as Duck leads across the landing and down the stairs. Barclay sees them first, eyes wide as dinner plates as he sways Indrid in his arms. Indrid turns next, breaking into a wicked grin as he takes in the duo descending the stairs. 

“Brought you two a little present.” Duck lets go of the tie and Joe stills, looking at the other two for some kind of sign. 

“Lucky us.” Barclay rumbles, stepping forward and tipping Joe’s chin up to kiss him. 

Duck takes the moment where Joe is too surprised to hold onto the cook to grab his wrists and cuff them behind his back. 

“The hell?” Joe tries to look behind him only for Barclay to drag him into another kiss and not release him until he’s giggling. 

“I know you, slick. You’ll try to take control of the whole scene if we don’t stop you. As this is as much about makin’ you relax as it is findin’ out what’s under those slacks. 

“Duck, you’ve seen me in my underwear.”

“Yeah, but I never saw what was under ‘em, no matter how many times I wanted to yank ‘em down.” He guides Joe over to the couch, where he sits without needing to be told. 

“What, exactly, is the plan?” Indrid hangs back by the fireplace, metallic threads in his robe making him look like an emperor. 

“To show this handsome fella just how bad we want him so that the idea will actually sink into that big brain of his.”

“I see.” Indrid saunters forward, hands behind his back, considering Joe with an unreadable expression. The detective looks up at him hopefully as he approaches the couch, some silent conversation passing between them as Indrid looms over him. 

Then an ink-stained hand catches Joe across the face, loud enough that Duck and Barclay both jump. Joe doesn’t take nearly so long to recover, licking his lips and smiling up at Indrid while Duck is still trying to parse what happened. 

“That’s about as hard as I expected a spoiled heir to hit.”

Another slap, Joe yelping as it hits. Duck takes a half step forward when the sound turns to a moan and Indrid lets out a sharp, menacing laugh. 

“Oh you like that, don’t you pet? All that sophistication and cleverness to hide the fact you’re nothing more than a mutt who needs to be put in his place.”

“Better than being a brat who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Indrid crouches so they’re eye to eye, tracing a heart on Joe’s cheek with his finger, “Oh no pet, I don’t think I am better than everyone else.”

Slap

“I know I am.”

“Holy fuck.” Barclay grips the edge of the couch where he’s been standing, tent noticeable in his pajamas.

Indrid smiles at him, “Surprised, dearest? Yes, I suppose you would be. You, my sweet, perfect, beloved beast, never need such a firm hand. You’ve never been anything but good.”

Duck shifts from foot to foot. His cock is twitching at Indrid addressing the others in that way, even though if the pale-haired man tried it on him, Duck would pin him to the floor and ride him until he cried. 

“Joseph? Is this really okay?” Barclay’s voice is going husky.

Joe nods once, then adds, “It’d be better if your boyfriend didn’t hit like a baby.” 

Indrid snarls, but instead of slapping him again he fists his hand into his hair and yanks Joe's head back. His partner cries out as Indrid sinks his teeth into the skin of his neck, not relenting until the moan turns broken and panting. 

“Dearest, please fetch the supplies. Duck, help me make him less decent.” Indrid begins unbuttoning Joe’s shirt. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” As Duck joins them, Joe kicks out a leg, lightly catching Indrid on the shins. 

“Now that ain’t very nice, darlin.” Duck pulls off Joe's tie and binds it around his ankles.

Indrid turns, kissing his cheek before pecking Joe on the lips, “Goodness, I had no idea you two would be this much fun. Are you alright, pet?”

“I feel like I’m flying.”

“If it turns to a fall, tell us.” Indrid cups his face to offer a tender kiss, “none of us want you hurt.”

“Thank you.” Joe sighs, tipping his face into Duck’s hand when he offers it. They stay like that until Barclay returns, at which point Indrid rises and points imperiously at Duck. 

“Take off your pants. Barclay, sit there and put Joseph over your lap so you can, ah, open him up for me.”

“Ohfuck.” Joe actually whines as Barclay obeys and throws him over his lap. 

Duck is enjoying the sight of carefully pressed slacks being bunched around Joe knees that it takes reality a moment to join him in the room. Joe knows the truth, and he’s fairly certain Barclay figured it out when he poked his head into the room to ask a question right after Duck was in the shower and saw the scars on his chest. 

Did Barclay tell Indrid? If he didn’t, how the fuck should Duck go about this?

Indrid’s fingers wrap around Duck’s pants and shove them, and his underwear, to the floor. In retrospect, this is what he gets for stopping to think near a man who looks horny enough to fuck an entire barroom. 

“Mmmm, it seems Barclay was correct.” Eager fingers tease the folds beneath his dick, “are inside visitors permitted?”

Duck snickers at the phrasing, “Sometimes. Depends on how I’m feelin’.”

“Understood.” Indrid brushes their noses together, “go lay down on the couch. Joseph has a mouth that was made to suck cock and I have waited too long to see him do so.”

He positions himself so he’s laying on the couch. Getting where Indrid wants him, especially with the sight of Joe facedown and ass up, moaning into the cushions as Barclay fucks his ass with two fingers. 

The cook pauses from where he’s groping and kissing Joe’s ass, “Put your feet wherever you need to, man.”

That lets him get close enough that he can reach down and drag Joe’s face between his legs. 

“MOH, oohhhhhhhhhhh” Joe isn’t doing much besides moaning but that alone is pretty gratifying. 

Indrid tugs Joe’s hair, “Get to it pet.”

“What–ohfuck–what about you?” Duck turns his head as Indrid kneels by the couch.

In reply, Indrid kisses him, really kisses him, for the first time. It’s like Duck has been holding his breath, diving deeper and deeper in search of something, only to find the treasure glittering at him up at the surface. He sighs into the kiss and Indrid lets out a pleased chirp. 

“It’s like you were meant to kiss me.” Indrid murmurs before bringing their lips together a second time. 

Duck has to agree, lets himself melt into the feeling of Indrid’s mouth on his and the toe-curling steadiness of Joe sucking him off. His climax builds slowly, like a wave far out from shore, and by the time it crashes into him he’s blissfully sprawled on the couch with Indrid nibbling his neck and Joe kissing his thighs. 

“Think he’s ready, baby.” Barclay is practically drooling as Indrid helps Duck sit up and turns his attention onto Joe, undoing the tie on his ankles. Barclay is also ready, his cock fully hard as he kicks off his pants. The cook coaxes Joe to straddle his lap, thighs shaking as he pushed and pulled into position. His hands are still trapped behind him, and Duck watches them flex as Barclay shoves him down onto his cock. 

“SHIT! Ohmygod” Joe slouches forward, “god, Barclay, yes, god you’re amazing.” 

“Thanks baby.” Strong arms circle Joe’s waist as Barclay kisses his neck. 

A constant stream of short, helpless, ecstatic moans leave his partner, and Duck swears he’s never sounded more beautiful. 

“As lovely as you sound, pet, I have another use for your mouth.” Indrid undoes his robe, cock shorter than Barclay’s but already burning it’s image in Duck’s mind. 

The loss of Joe’s moans is made up for by Indrid purring , “Good boy” as Joe takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Had Duck not just cum, he’d be jerking off frantically to Joe being used so thoroughly and expertly. 

After a moment, Joe chokes out something he can’t quite make out.

“So soon? My, you really were meant to be nothing but a rich man’s toy, weren’t you?”

Joe cums with a muffled shout, but the other two offer no relief, and so he writhes in Barclay’s lap, softening cock bouncing helplessly between his legs as tears spill down his cheeks. 

Barclay rams into him hard enough that his partner actually squeaks, and an instant later Indrid pulls away, cum painting Joe’s flushed face and chest. 

In the chorus of panting that follows, Barclay manages, “Keys?”

Duck quickly undoes the cuffs, catching Joe as he collapses into his arms. He’s never looked this relaxed, this vulnerable.

This happy. 

“You with me, Joe?”

A slow, satisfied nod, “I’m here. You’re a genius.”

“See, he agrees with me.” Indrid flops into Barclay’s lap, peppering his face with kisses and cooing things meant for only the cooks ears. 

Gradually, the four of them rearrange into more comfortable positions on the couch, Barclay wobbling off and returning with coffee for each of them. As Joe cuddles between Barclay and Duck, Duck puts his lips to his ear. 

“Merry Christmas, darlin.”

He shoves the remaining mail into his travel suitcase, lays his money on the table, and moves quickly–not as quickly as he’d like, but still–onto the street. A length of black flutters down and he’s instantly grateful for the snow; without the contrast, he might have missed it. 

He’d been devastated to miss the Zeverat trip, doubly so that it was his own damn mistake that made that the case. A week after the expedition left, he got a letter from a concerned gardener just over the border who had, “an injured mothman” on his hands and no idea how to care for him. He’d heard Joseph knew about cryptids and could he help?

Joseph was on the train that night.

The mothman, Indrid, recovered from a cold-induced torpor thanks to Joseph’s notes and a series of telegrams to the mothperson, Ulysses, who had been Joseph’s source of them. While convalescing under the watchful and increasingly fond eye of Duck, whose backyard he had collapsed into, Indrid was more than happy to chat with Joseph. The feather had been a token of friendship, Indrid teasing that he had better see it in a place of honor in Joseph’s collection when he visited Kepler. 

As his home rises into view, Joseph tucks the feather safely back into his inner pocket. He already knows where to place it; his study has a special shelf for cryptid artifacts that were gifts from friends or acquaintances on his expeditions. Those items are flanked by rows and rows of his journals, the whole shelf framed by the photos he’s been able to take (or pay someone else to). 

He knows some cryptozoologists pride themselves on pieces they snuck across borders and past watchful eyes, or swiped from the rightful owners. If it’s not bought fairly or given freely, Joseph doesn’t want it in his house

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay huddles on the cramped canopy bed, the commotion through the door telling him that the day he’s feared is upon him. Joseph Stern, the real one, is home. 

When the expedition arrived in his village, Barclay was wary but intrigued; human visitors are a rare sight in Yeti territory. It’s even rarer for one to propose a marriage between himself and one of the Yeti as a gesture of goodwill. 

After two days of debate, the heads of his village asked if he would be interested. The marriage would primarily be political, and Barclay had spoken about wanting to travel and train in human kitchens. It was also painfully romantic, to him anyway, to be swept away by someone adventurous who could take him around the world. He agreed, and married the head of the expedition: Joseph Stern. 

It was all a lie.

The instant they arrived in Kepler he was locked into a spare bedroom and told to get comfortable. When, panicked, he asked Joseph what was going on, he was told that the man’s real name was Roger DuBoise. He’d forged his bosses signature and married Barclay for the sole purpose of bringing him back as a specimen. 

For two months, his world has been this room. His one attempt at escape led to a warning shot at his head and a week shackled to his bedpost. He’s cried, he’s howled, he’s bargained, he’s done everything he can think of and nothing changes, so when the knob turns he decides there’s nothing for it but to face what’s coming. 

Duboise is talking as the door opens, but the man beside him instantly takes all of Barclay’s attention. He’s tall for a human, with combed-back black hair and eyes the same, sharp blue as a clear, winter sky. His right hand rests on a silver-topped cane, while his left covers his mouth in shock. 

“Not a bad trophy, eh Stern?”

Barclay shrinks at the words but refuses to look away.

Stern drops his hand and says calmly, “In the hall. Now. No, no not you.” he holds up a hand to stop Barclay from coming closer, “You, Roger.”

The door closes and Barclay strides as quietly as he can to rest his ear against it. 

“...in the hell were you thinking?”

“Your instructions were to bring back things from the expedition-”

“That is not a thing, that is a prisoner you’ve apparently been keeping in my house without my knowledge or permission and who you brought down here as your husband.”

A third voice chimes in, “Technically he’s your husband. That’s what the signature on the documents says.”

Stern’s voice loses any trace of warmth, “Let me guess; you were hoping I’d take him on some sort of tour as a sideshow attraction, and use the legal standing to get him across borders without issue and take whatever money he made as my own.”

“Our own. For god’s sake, be sensible, most people outside this part of the world don’t even believe the Yetis exist, we’ll be famous, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“If that’s what you’ve taken away from my financing your expeditions, then our partnership is over. As is your stay in my house.” Stern raises his voice, “get out. All of you.”

“But we have-” 

“Fifteen minutes to collect your things and go  before I call the cops. I’ll have porters pack up and ship anything you can’t get in your bags to you within the week.”

Arguing voices grow further and further away. When fifteen minutes are up and there’s no sign of anyone coming to his door, Barclay retreats to the bed to wait. 

The noise in the house goes from clamoring under the door to a single voice pacing near the front door. Joseph doesn’t sound angry. All the same Barclay’s fingers itch to pull the curtains on the bed and hide for a while. And when there’s a gentle rap at the door, he jumps. 

“Come in?”

Joseph steps inside, leaves the door open as he slides one hand into his pocket, “I’m so sorry about this. I know you have zero reason to trust me, but I swear they didn’t bring you here under my orders. I already called the courthouse and they'll annul the shame marriage tomorrow."

“So…I can go home?”

The human sighs, tapping one finger on the head of his cane, “I called the outpost. The pass closed two days ago. And unless I’m misunderstanding, even Yetis can’t get through that terrain in that condition.”

Barclay shakes his head, feeling like all his fears are piling up on him like snow on a roof.

“You’re welcome to stay here until spring, as my guest. I have lots of space, and the house is designed to accommodate all kinds of cryptids. But, um, if you’d rather put all this behind you, I can find you somewhere in town to wait out the winter. I know Amnesty Lodge still has beds.”

It’s the embarrassment running beneath his proud, calm exterior that makes Barclay say, “I’ll stay here.”

A dazzling smile renders the human painfully handsome, and he holds out his hand, “I’m Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“Well, Barclay, unless you’re attached to this room-”

“I’d like to be literally anywhere else.”

Joseph’s smile quirks with sympathy, “I thought that might be the case. Follow me.”

The floor creaks as the human leads him to a new bedroom with warm yellow and blue wallpaper and a bed that will actually hold him at the center. Better still is the large, rectangular bathtub in the washroom. 

“Oh thank fuck. I’ve been contorting myself trying to squeeze into that horrible, tiny shower.”

The human shakes his head, “If they’d paid any attention to our conversations they’d have known this was the right room for you.” He glances at Barclay, eyes narrowing, “did you have luggage?”

“Yeah. They left me with, like, a few clothes and took the rest. For your collection.”

“Oh for–right, one sec, go ahead and make yourself comfortable and I’ll figure out where they put it.”

Barclay strips off his wrap and shirt, dipping his hand into the steaming water as it fills the tub. As he’s shutting the tap, Joseph returns. 

“I found two bags, is that-oh, um” he quickly turns his back, blushing so brightly Barclay hazards a tease. 

“I forget humans don’t all chill naked in hot springs together.”

“No, although some of us aren’t opposed to the concept.”

He sinks into the water with a sigh, “did they take any of my stuff?”

“It doesn’t look like it, but you’ll have to double check.” Joseph turns, and Barclay suspects it’s taking some effort to keep his eyes from dropping down for a peek, “I can get some towels, is there anything else you need?”

Barclay shifts in the water, “Do you have dried snow yuzu slices? We always put those in the springs.”

“I’ll take a look.”

“You, uh, if you don’t it’s totally okay. I don’t want to be a pain.

Joseph turns from the doorway, “You aren’t. Besides, I have to take care of my husband.” He winks and is gone. 

It’s a joke, but the thrill that goes up his spine sure as fuck isn’t. He reminds himself that Roger was charming too, that he’s not exactly doing great on the not-being-tricked-by-humans front, but Joseph seems so…sincere. Like under the charm is hiding something sweet instead of sinister. 

He’s been soaking long enough to actually relax when Joseph returns with a small box. 

“I couldn’t find any dried yuzu but” he holds up a teabag, “this is yuzu blossom and lemongrass. Will that work?”

“Worth a try.”

Joseph sets the box on the edge of the tub and Barclay drops three bags into the water. As a familiar, comforting scent fills the steam, his host moves in and out of the room, setting towels and soap in place and eventually depositing his bags near the corner of the bed. He’s straightening the mirror, a task that forces him onto his toes, when he hisses “shit” and braces on the sink, rubbing his leg.

“What happened to it? Uh, if that’s not a sore spot.”

“I wanted to see if a nest in my oak was a pygmy Roc, since they lay eggs in the fall. My guess was right, but I learned that when the mother Roc divebombed me and knocked me out of the tree. I broke my leg, which was why I wasn’t with my expedition. Not my worst injury but still.”

“Guessing you were still pretty fucking happy to see a Roc so close.” 

For a second he worries the teasing annoyed Joseph, but then the star-bright smile returns, “You got me, big guy. Up close the patterns on their feathers are stunning, and a few came out in the attack for me to keep in my collection.” He pushes away from the sink, “I’ll leave you to your bath. If you need anything, I’m just downstairs. 

Barclay soaks until the water goes cold, brushes his fur and oils his claws before putting on an outfit he hasn’t worn in months. He ventures downstairs at the request of his stomach and finds Joseph in the kitchen, frowning at an empty cabinet. 

“Would it have killed them to go grocery shopping?”

“Think they did. But they also had a few parties. At least that’s what it sounded like?”

“Please tell me they fed you enough.”

“Only just. And they only did that much because they probably thought I’d eat them if they didn’t.”

“At this point you’d have been justified.” Joseph shuts the wooden doors, “will you let me take you to dinner? I can deal with the kitchen in the morning and I imagine you’d like to get out of the house.”

“So fucking bad.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Had it not violated his personal ethics and multiple laws, Joseph might applaud Roger’s decision to bring Barclay down to Kepler. The Yeti is fantastic company and, in the two weeks Joseph’s been home, has gone from a white shadow slipping around corners to sticking close to Joseph as he moves through his day. Joseph counts this as his proudest accomplishment to date. 

Having a seven foot tall, monstrously strong Yeti around the house is also a godsend when you’re healing from a broken leg. Barclay helps with the chores and runs the bulk of the errands. This arose from Barclay’s (correct) assumption that if Joseph injured himself again, the authorities might decide that the cryptid who’d been dragged into his house–and not Joseph’s occasional carelessness and frequent stubbornness–was to blame.

They’re spending this snowy afternoon in front of the fire, Joseph reading in his chair as Barclay reclines against the coffee table and mends a shirt that was torn when Joseph’s ex-partners rifled through his things. 

“Want me to see if I can fix the elbow on that robe?” Barclay folds the shirt and sets it neatly on the table. 

“Yes, thank you. I keep meaning to stitch it up but there’s always something more urgent that needs attention.” He slips the blue fabric from his shoulders and passes it to the Yeti, who uses a claw to pick through the sewing kit in search of new thread. Joseph wonders if he should change out of his simple, black shirts and the soft, grey pants he wears around the house, then decides he doesn’t mind Barclay seeing him like this at all. 

“I was going to take the train down to the valley next Monday. Do you want to come?”

Barclay looks up, “Seriously? It won’t, like, mess up your plans?”

“Not at all.” Joseph doesn’t add that the idea came to him after Barclay mentioned his desire to travel beyond Kepler.

“I’d love to.”

Joseph makes a note in his pocket calendar to buy tickets. The doorbell sounds and he goes to answer it, grinning when the delivery men show him the large, wooden box. 

He’s just closing the front door when Barclay joins him in the foyer, running a claw over the box. 

“You can open it, big guy. It’s for you.”

“Holy fuck, really?” Barclay wrenches open the crate, revealing the Yeti-sized chair and ottoman inside, “oh, oh Joseph this is amazing.”

“I found a woodworker in town who does both human and Yeti styles. I really had no idea how small all my living room furniture was-” he forgets the rest of his explanation as Barclay envelopes him in a hug. Their respective heights mean Joseph’s face is pressed to the white, faintly citrus-scented fur of his chest, and as he returns the hug he wonders if he can frame the sudden, overwhelming desire to see what sleeping atop Barclay feels like as anything even remotely scientific. 

“It looks just like the ones my moms had in our house.” A soft rumble enters Barclay’s voice (it never occurred to him that Yetis purr) “thank you so much, Joseph. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. It’s your house too, Barclay. I want you to be happy here”

The cryptid nuzzles his hair and murmurs, “I am.

—------------------------------------------

The snow is upon them, and as Barclay dresses for the day he knows he won’t see blue sky for some time. So he’ll content himself with stealing looks into blue eyes until spring. At which point he’ll….

He’s not really sure. The month he’s been with Joseph has shown him all his naive, romantic hopes for marriage aren’t so foolish after all. There’s someone he could see the world with, who he could live happily beside forever, who makes him feel like the most magnificent, interesting being in history. He’s just not sure if that someone feels the same about him. 

When he first arrived Joseph was kind and polite, the way one should be to a guest who’s spent the last two months scared out of his mind. But the longer they’re together, the more some new, tender feeling flits between them, twittering at Barclay to just admit what he wants.

A crash draws his attention, and he rushes to the library to find Joseph leaning against a bookshelf, hand on his injured leg and non-fiction strewn at his feet. 

“I’m okay, just overbalanced carrying all these and discovered I still can’t put much weight on my leg.” He inhales sharply, “and now the damn thing is locked up and spasming. Would you mind helping me to bed?”

Barclay offers his hand. When Joseph takes it, he gingerly scoops the human into his arms, taking care not to aggravate the injury. 

Joseph laughs in surprised delight and rests a hand on Barclay’s cheek, “Excellent service, big guy.”

Once Joseph is resting on his meticulously made bed, he begins massaging the sore spot before muttering, “It’s like trying to rub a brick.”

“I got an idea.” Barclay kneels by the bed, sets his claws against the muscles of Joseph’s calf and thigh, “if they start biting into the skin tell me.”

The human nods, then gasps as Barclay steadily circles his claws, coaxing the muscle to relax. He’s never touched him like this, where the smallness of him, the way he’s all smooth elegance wrapped around an ultimately fragile body that Barclay could snap in two, is so clear. 

He could, but he doesn’t want to. He wants him like this, warm and safe in a bed where Barclay can look after him until the sun returns and then walk with him in the world as it wakes up. 

A soft, grateful groan, “I think that got it. Thank you.”

“Any time.” Barclay means to stand, but Joseph has turned his head and is looking at him so clearly it makes him question whether anyone has ever really looked at him before.

He rests his shaking arms on the bed, leans forward, and kisses the human hesitantly on the lips. Before he can retreat, Joseph’s fingers catch his chin and hold his face steady as he a line across one cheek and then the other before landing an urgent one on his mouth. 

“Join me?”

Barclay scrambles onto the bed as Joseph sits up and then he’s kissing him over and over again, holding him close and running his claws through black hair until it’s messier than he’s ever seen it. 

“Excited, big guy?” Joseph pants up at him with a kiss-slicked smile and he understands the purrs and growls filling the bedroom all come from him. 

“Not my fault I’ve got a gorgeous human trying to get in my lap.”

Joseph blushes, traces his finger from one of Barclay’s shoulders to the other, “Tell me what you want.”

“I, uh, I…” his skin burns, “I’m not sure. I haven’t done this before.”

“I figured, given how few humans make it up the mountain.”

“I mean with anyone.” Joseph looks so surprised that he adds, “it’s a big deal! I, I just, I wanted to do it with someone…special.”

It’s so childish he’s expecting Joseph to laugh at him, not cup his face and say, “Then we’ll make it special.”

He growls hopefully, claws tiptoeing up Joseph’s thighs. 

“How would you like it to go?”

“Uh, there’s this thing that a lot of Yetis do their first time with someone. You get somewhere really dark, the idea is your eyes take a backseat while your other senses take in your partner.”

He can tell Joseph has questions, but his human simply asks, “Then how about you get the curtains on the windows while I get the ones on the bed?”

Barclay shuts out the light, then takes the chance to remove and fold his clothes. When he parts the bed curtains, the sight of Joseph having made the same decision makes him growl long and low. 

“You know, records from explorers really underplayed how charming Yeti growls can be.” 

“Think you might be the exception there, blue eyes.” Barclay scoots to the center of the bed on his knees, and Joseph sits up to mirror him. He dips his head and nuzzles the human's neck as curious hands rove across his back and sides. 

“It’s funny, I know you’re bigger than me, but this does make it seem so much more obvious.” A flash of smile in the dark, “I can see why this technique got popular.”

“Mmmhmm.” Barclay noses his way down to lick inquisitively at Joseph’s nipples. 

“Not much feeling there.” Joseph guides his head back up for a kiss, “but I’m sure we can find lots of uses for your tongue.”

For a time, the best use turns out to be slipping it between Joseph’s lips while his fingers discover every inch of his human and his human tugs and pets his fur until he whines with joy. It’s only when Joseph is in his lap that he pulls back to speak. 

“Christ, that is not what I expected.” Joseph is looking down at where Barclay’s dick bumps his inner thigh. Courtesy of some of Joseph’s library, Barclay knows his dick is a little shorter and much thicker than the average human’s. 

“Wanna see how it measures up?”

“Absolutely. Here, lay on your back.” Joseph nudges him backwards. 

“You sure you’re ready take it?”

Joseph takes Barclay’s left hand and guides it between his legs, “You tell me.”

“Fuck” he purrs as he runs a finger over the slick skin, “that’s pretty fucking flattering.”

He lays back with his hands behind his head as Joseph straddles him, then quickly corrects to make sure the human doesn’t put too much weight on his leg. Warmth surrounds his dick as Joseph moans and sinks down. When Barclay bottoms out they both groan and Joseph actually laughs. 

“That good?”

“Incredible, big guy.” He experimentally rolls his hips, making Barclay squeak, “ohmygod, I’m canceling all my winter plans so we can, can do this every day.”

“Awww, you’d clear your schedule for me?” Barclay bucks his hips, growling when Joseph yelps adorably. 

Joseph lifts Barclay’s hand from his hip and kisses the palm, “I’d do a lot of things for you. However” he nips Barclay’s thumb, “one thing you won’t be doing is cumming in me. There’s, ohgod, not enough information on whether it would produce anything for me to risk it.”

Barclay can’t stop the pleading, horny growl that slips from his mouth. 

“I see” Joseph rocks his hips more firmly, setting off fireworks in Barclay’s brain, “do you like the idea that it could? That you, fuck, you could breed me like a good mate?”

“Uh huh, so bad, wanna be your mate so bad.

The human bends down, kissing his forehead, “You are. Or do you mean” he grinds hard and slow against him, “you wish I’d been on the expedition and instead of coming down here you, you’d kept me up there. Had me all to yourself and kept me warm all winter by trying day after day to see if you could breed me successfully?” He sits up, doing his best to bounce and Barclay’s cock while rubbing his own, “I’ve been told I look good tied up, and we both know you’d have to do that to keep me from going off to do some research.”

“I’d just fucking tie you to the bed so I could fuck you whenever I wanted to and, and I’d be so good, treat you so well, my perfect human-”

“Shit” Joseph hunches forward shaking, then smiles, “well, make, making me cum like that sure as hell makes you a good mate. I wonder how good you’ll be if I blow you?”

Barclay barely manages to pull Joseph off him before cumming with a howlgrowlpurr up the human’s stomach and chest. His limbs go limper than overcooked noodles, but luckily Joseph has already rolled off onto the bed, resting his head on Barclays bicep and petting his chest. When his muscles finally listen to him, Barclay turns his head and kisses the human softly. 

“Hey, Joseph? If I wanted to stay past the winter, could I?”