 
### Through the Years

### Z.A. Maxfield

Through The Years

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2008 Z.A. Maxfield

Smashwords Edition July 2012

Published by Maxfield Books

Cover Art 2012 Winterheart Design

Digital Edition

ISBN# 978-0-9853865-3-5

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Table of Contents

The Cursed Noel

Dedication

For my friends. For my family. For equality. For a better future. With all my heart.

Acknowledgments

This story began as a free serial on my blog. I created a couple of characters my age and visited them four times in their lives together, in 1978, 1988, 1998, and 2008, to describe their love story as it evolved against the backdrop of the fight for gay rights and marriage equality.

I left them on the eve of the election, uncertain whether they would be allowed to marry legally in California or whether they would remain in a civil partnership. We know now, of course, that Proposition 8 passed and same sex marriage in California was outlawed in the state constitution. Much has happened since then, but that loss galvanized my desire to clarify my position.

I've combined the short stories here, edited them ruthlessly, and added the bonus Christmas short story, The Cursed Noel, about Barry and Ethan's first Christmas together. I'd like to acknowledge the contribution of Pepper Espinoza, who helped me with edits, my daughter Zoe (zoesebookservices.com), who worked tirelessly to edit and format this for ebook release, and Lex Valentine a Winterheart Design (winterheart.com), who—as always—created a cover I love.

Barry sweltered in the crush, packed in with the other dancers like sardines. For prom, Lisa's mom had done her hair in some 60's style he'd never seen her wear before—and hoped she'd never wear again. Her towering, stiff coiffure had some sort of sparkles in it, and when he got close she smelled like strawberry air freshener. She appeared as uncomfortable attending prom—that rite of high school passage intended to make kids like them feel awkward—as he did.

"Can you believe this?" Lisa hissed. She jerked her head to the right—toward Ethan Holmes and Sarah Emerson. "Are they kidding?"

Barry's stomach roiled. Ethan and Sarah groped each other as if they were the last two people on earth and had to repopulate it. On top of that, they'd all had a few sips from Ethan's flask. Now he felt dizzy and sick.

Stupid Ethan.

Barry didn't even know how he'd gotten talked into going to prom, much less taking Lisa and playing Fred and Ethel to Sarah and Ethan's Lucy and Ricky. He ought to have his head examined.

Every three months since the eighth grade, when his and Ethan's perfect friendship crashed and burned in a fiery collision of values and principles and good common sense, Ethan came to him and begged him to remember the golden days. Family barbecues where they ran wild after dark. Late night monster movie festivals. That time at sixth grade camp when Barry felt so homesick he'd crawled into Ethan's bunk and cried himself to sleep in Ethan's arms.

It had always been Ethan and Barry, until that day in eighth grade when Ethan slammed Barry into a locker for no other reason than to amuse the boys on his soccer team. And now, watching Ethan—being part of the questionable legend that was Ethan Holmes and Sarah Emerson—a stab of anger and more than a little shame pierced Barry's heart. Because every three months or so, Ethan could call him, tell him a good story, and manipulate him into doing anything Ethan wanted him to do for old times' sake. And that was how he found himself here, at prom, dancing with Lisa.

The week before, Ethan had pissed his parents off in a spectacular vocal and physical display of rebellion that culminated in his driving his small pickup truck away from the house too fast. By accident it sailed through Archer Flanders wooden fence and across his rose bushes until Ethan finally parked it at the bottom of the man's swimming pool. After that, the only way Ethan's parents would allow him to attend prom was if he could go with, and presumably be watched over by, good old Barry Moffit.

Good old Barry.

Barry clamped his mouth shut. He was headed away to school in the fall, to UC Berkeley, away from Long Beach and Ethan's manipulation. Until fall, Barry knew he could grin and bear it. Lisa tapped his shoulder. "You're grinding your teeth again."

"Sorry." Barry put his forehead to hers. He gave up and began leading her off the dance floor.

"Cheer up. They're playing 'Just the Way You Are'. It's only a matter of about fifteen minutes and they'll be playing 'Last Dance,' and then we can get the hell out of here."

"If His Majesty King Ethan can be torn away from his adoring court." They walked to a quiet corner away from the booming noise of the speakers.

"Why'd you say you'd come if you hate it so much?" Lisa asked him, for about the twentieth time. "I'm not knocking it. I'd never have been invited if you hadn't asked me, so I'm grateful you did."

"You shouldn't be grateful." Barry avoided answering her question. "You're the only bright spot in this mess."

"Well, for me?" She dimpled. "It was coming with the only guy in school who can disco dance."

He grinned. "I live to serve." He had another dizzy spell and shook his head to clear it. "I should never have drunk Ethan's booze. How sick is that? I know better."

"You don't seem to have any common sense when Ethan's around."

"I've got to go to the bathroom. I hope I'm not going to throw up. Maybe if I splash my face with cold water... You going to be okay here?"

Lisa glanced around. "I'll be fine. Other than bad fashion and worse music I can't see anything here I should be afraid of."

Barry gave her a tight nod and started toward the men's room. He was amazed at the pretense. Why had everyone been sweating over this for weeks? The whole thing gave him a massive headache.

Prom was a memorable night to get laid, but other than that he didn't see it had much going for it. And his night with Lisa—while it might yet be fun, somehow—would not be memorable.

Neither of them played for the Hets.

As Barry threaded his way through the crowd, he was glad he'd chosen to wear a simple black tux. The sea of powder blue, brown, and burgundy tuxes and frilly shirts—even when they looked okay on someone—just seemed wrong to him. He'd originally planned to wear a white dinner jacket like Rick in Casablanca but gave up fighting about it with his mother, who assumed he'd ruin it.

Maybe she wasn't too far off. People were getting sloppy with snacks and punch, and while he was unlikely to spill on himself he'd seen more than one alcohol fueled collision on the dance floor and a lot of lip gloss on the collars and coats of clothing rentals.

He was leaning over the sink, splashing water on his face when he heard a noise behind him.

"Well, look who it is." John Townsend, the bully's bully, walked in, flanked by two of his minions from the baseball team.

Barry rose to his full height and sighed. "I had hoped this prom would be more Cary Grant and less Carrie White."

"What are you talking about, doofus?" John looked to his buddies for guidance. Barry tried to walk past them.

"Not so fast." Townsend blocked his way. "What are you even doing here? You've been shooting your mouth off about how shitty prom is for weeks. I didn't think we'd have to see your ugly face tonight."

Barry sighed. "I came because Ethan wrecked his truck. His mom told him if I didn't come, he couldn't either."

"That's a load of BS," one of Townsend's flunkies growled. "He wouldn't be caught dead with you."

"I suggest you ask him." Barry dried his hands and tossed the towel. "Now if you'll excuse me." Again, he tried to pass but Townsend's hand caught his sleeve.

"You're just a fucking pussy,"

"If that's the case, why you don't like me a whole lot more than you do?" Barry threw all hope of escape away. "Come here, baby. Wanna lick me?"

Townsend's fist came out of nowhere, smashing into the side of Barry's face. As he went down he regretted his decision to drink. He never could keep his mouth shut when liquor was involved. Someone's foot connected with his ribs and another blow thudded into his back. He grunted, trying to crawl away.

Someone opened the bathroom door.

Ethan's authoritative voice barked out. "Townsend! Are you out of your mind? Do you want to graduate from this dump or not? Get the hell off him."

Barry heard footsteps pound away. The tile floor felt cool against his battered cheek. Ethan's hands snaked under his arms to lift him up to a sitting position. Barry bit into his own lip to hide the agony. He pulled away to stand, but Ethan held him back.

"Barry," Ethan sounded weary. "What did you say this time?"

Barry sat on the bathroom floor leaning against Ethan for support. "What did I say? You're a piece of work."

"I'm sorry." Ethan sighed into Barry's hair. "I know you didn't want to come tonight."

"Forget it," Barry got up and braced himself against the sink. "Lisa is having a nice night. She loves those Bee Gees tunes, God help us." He tried to walk toward the door, but once again, Ethan stopped him.

"Barry. You're bleeding." Ethan pulled some paper towel off the roll and wet it, balling it up. He hooked a hand around Barry's neck and brought him into the light in front of the tiny bathroom mirror.

Barry sighed and closed his eyes, preparing himself to undergo some sort of misguided attempt at first aid. Ethan was useless in a real crisis and didn't much care for the sight of blood. "You sure you're the right person to be doing that? I can't lift your ass anymore if you faint."

"I'm not going to faint." Ethan dabbed at his wound.

"You have before," Barry reminded him.

"Once. In the fourth grade. When are you going to stop reminding me?"

Barry thought about it for a minute. "Never."

"Right. For your information, I'm not in the least afraid of the sight of blood."

"Yeah, so you tell me," Barry taunted, mostly because what Ethan was doing hurt.

"So I know." The hand that held Barry's neck tightened. "It was never the sight of blood, Barry."

Barry met Ethan's gaze.

"It was the sight of your blood." Ethan smiled sadly. "Why can't you just—"

"Why is this my fault? Your asshole friends beat up on me."

Ethan flung the towel into the sink. "Never mind."

Barry moved away from him.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else?"

"Not really, no." Before he thought better of it Barry covered his ribs with his hand. "I'd better go find Lisa."

"Come here." Ethan pulled him to the bathroom stall. "Let me see."

"Ethan, it's nothing." Barry pushed Ethan away.

"Let me see." Ethan tugged open the buttons of Barry's tux jacket. Sighing—wanting to get it over with—Barry held his coat back while Ethan lifted the plain white dress shirt from the waistband of his trousers.

Ethan let out a sharp curse when he saw the massive bruise blooming over Barry's ribs. He turned Barry around to look at his back. "You're going to be a mess tomorrow if you don't ice that down."

"I will."

Ethan didn't let go of Barry's shirt. "Your mom's going to have me killed."

"Only if she sees it. Which she won't." Barry yanked his shirt out of Ethan's hands and started to tuck it in. "She hasn't seen any of the others."

"Barry." Ethan blew out a breath. "Can't you just tone it down? Can't you just play along and avoid shit like this?"

Barry slumped against the stall wall. "Play along."

"You know what I mean. Just give that smartass mouth of yours a rest. Look down instead of challenging everyone to a staring contest. Be more—"

"Invisible? Sorry," Barry sneered. "I didn't mean to ruin your night."

Ethan ran a shaking hand through his hair. "You are such a douchebag."

"Excuse me?"

"You cannot keep your mouth shut. Not even when your life depends on it. For years I've watched out for you and every damn time I turn around you're someone else's punching bag."

"So what? What has that got to do with you?"

"I'll tell you so what." Ethan's head bobbed like one of those toy dogs in the back window of a car. "It scares the crap out of me, that's what. One of these days I'm going to come around a corner and find you dead."

Ethan curled his hand into a fist and pounded the cubicle wall for emphasis.

"Ethan, in the fall I'm leaving, you won't have to give me another thought. You and your friends can keep—"

"Shut up." Ethan wrapped both arms around Barry. "Just shut up."

Barry leaned his forehead against Ethan's shoulder. He savored that brief taste—even if it was counterfeit—of intimacy. His body still shook from the attack.

This rock, this solid wall of comfort, was Ethan, damn him. One minute he was putting the moves on Sarah Emerson and the next, he reacted with such compassion it made Barry's eyes tear up.

Barry compressed his lips against the questions in his head.

"I thought we'd never change. We promised."

"What?" asked Barry.

"I thought you'd go to school with me, at Cal State Long Beach."

Barry barked a laugh. "Yeah, right. I hear there's all kinds of things at CSULB you and your friends can shove me into. I hear the lockers in the gym are big enough to fit me and all the rest of my pussy friends."

"Stop it, Barry."

"Don't you mean 'fairy'? Isn't that what you said just yesterday when I bumped into you outside the music lab? 'Well, if it isn't Fairy Moffit'?"

"Look—"

"No. You look. You've had your fun. We've all enjoyed it. Well... Except me. Now it's time for us to move on."

"You're not going to move on from me that easily, Moffit."

God, Ethan exhausted him. "You're right. I have loved you all my life."

"Barry."

"What? That's what all this is leading up to, isn't it? You're going to tell me I'm making a huge mistake leaving our friendship behind. You're going to tell me that I will never find a better friend. Someone who knows me as well as you do. Loves me as much as you do?"

Ethan's lashes lowered over faintly pink cheekbones.

"I know all that." Barry ached everywhere except all the places where the pain was so acute it physically burned. He felt sick to his stomach and sick at heart. Tired of loving Ethan, tired of waiting for high school to be over. Tired of being alive. "Next you're going to tell me I need to suck it up and play along and take it like a fucking man. I'm only going to say this once, Ethan, so listen carefully: You want to give it to me like a real fucking man? Bring it on. If not, step aside. I'm tired of being your back up plan."

"My what?"

"You heard me." Barry leaned in, getting right in Ethan's face. "You think you're going to do the jock thing until you're through college with some kind of degree, and then you're going to leave this whole bourgeois suburban ass-clenching shit behind and get me to show you what you've been missing while you were playing it straight. No way. Bring it the fuck on, Ethan, or next time someone's kicking the shit out of me, don't bother stopping by."

Ethan jerked as though he'd been slapped, but Barry reached out and grabbed Ethan's lapels in a preemptive strike—an insurgency born of reckless need and fear and endless frustration.

Barry pulled Ethan—dragged him—into a kiss that felt like ten years of longing and, at the same time, coming home.

"Ethan." Barry sighed against Ethan's mouth. Ethan's lips parted and his tongue invaded and explored—it vanquished—Barry's. "Oh, fuck you, Ethan."

Ethan gripped Barry around the waist and nudged his feet apart with the toe of his dress shoe. He crushed their cocks together. There was nothing to come between them but the clothes they wore. Their boutonnieres clashed and rained white rose petals as Ethan worked frantically to find skin.

Before Barry could even fathom what happened, Ethan's meaty hands cradled Barry's bare ass. Barry's legs tightened around Ethan's waist. He locked his ankles together groaning as Ethan's flesh met his for the first—maybe the only—time.

They ground against each other, kissing frantically. Time stopped while Barry's senses overloaded. His whispered words got swallowed up in Ethan's desperate, needy cries of more, and harder, and God, you feel so good.

Berry's brain, and then his spine, melted like wax. Electric tingling jolts of satisfaction waited, just out of reach. Ethan's whispered I love you pushed him against a wall of tension—an urgent precipice like none he'd ever known before, and then with a single sigh—a simple kiss—Ethan knocked him over it.

After the first jets of thick, sticky cum spattered over their rental clothing, nothing could ever be the same again.

Ethan and Sarah walked around the duck pond at El Dorado Park. Samantha, at three, jumped while holding on to each of their hands. This was her favorite activity, and one that could go on for hours; she raised her little feet and soared through the air, blissfully suspended between two people who loved her. Ethan's arm ached.

"So, tallying up," Ethan smiled down at Sarah Emerson, now Holmes. "Seventy-nine billable hours of family counseling later and you and Jim are still the only members of the family who will talk to me."

"And Sammi," Sarah reminded him.

"And Sammi." Ethan bent down and lifted the little girl. "Miss Sammi Smartypants, niece extraordinaire!" He whirled her in the air, watching her face against the early summer sky.

"Higher, Uncle Ethan," Sammi squealed and he obliged. He tossed her way up in the air and caught her just before Sarah had a heart attack. Sarah handed Sammi a bag of crusts to feed the ducks and shooed her off.

"Although I still don't really know why you talk to me."

"Why wouldn't I?" She appeared genuinely baffled.

He put his hands in his pockets. "I should think going to our ten year class reunion would remind you."

"Oh, that?" She rolled her eyes. "I will admit that you and Barry getting hauled out of the bathroom at prom because you were performing a lewd act—" She held up her hand before he could protest. "Their words, not mine. That was a bit of a shock."

"I'm sorry."

"I got over it." She gave his upper arm a gentle squeeze. "And have you forgotten who came to get us from the prom authorities that night?"

"It is etched indelibly on my memory. Jim. Super Jim. The amazing Jim—WonderMan—Holmes. Straight as a fucking arrow, able to leap to conclusions at a single bound, faster than a speeding bullet and just as insightful—"

"And my husband, the only member of your family currently giving you the time of day," she warned him. As if he didn't remember. As if he weren't grateful.

"Yeah."

"Don't diss my man."

"You just don't get it about brothers, Sarah. It's against the laws of man and God for me to talk about him warmly behind his back."

"I get that." Sarah watched Sammi hold bread crusts out to some of the ducks and then run from them in terror.

She'd checked on Sammi with motherly concern an average of 15.6 times each minute.

"Where's Barry?"

Ethan knew she'd worked her way up to it. She'd actually taken her time. Sarah was the family intelligence gatherer and she was unequaled in her skill. He secretly thought of her as the family's private dick, even though he didn't know how private she kept the information she gleaned.

He blew out a lungful of nervous air. "I fucked up."

"No."

"Yes. That's the last straw, Ethan Holmes. Fuck you. Never darken my door again. For real."

"Did he kick you out again? Have you got someplace to stay?"

Ethan rubbed his hands over his face. He missed the fog from the San Francisco Bay when he was down here visiting. His skin always felt dry and tight. "He moved out."

"What?"

That Barry would relinquish even one square inch of their renovated San Francisco home was the worst possible sign. Ethan knew if nothing else, Sarah would recognize the seriousness of his infraction.

"He's in Thailand right now."

"Thailand?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "He's with a group observing human rights violations in Burma."

"Burma?" Sammi came running back to her mother, empty plastic sack in her hand and together the three of them began the walk to the play equipment.

"Apparently—if you can believe this—the leader of Burma has eliminated certain denominations of currency because they're not divisible by nine."

"You have got to be joking."

"People are protesting and asking for democracy. Even I don't get it—although Burma is all Barry talked about for months, before—"

"So. He's in Thailand."

"Which is right next door to Burma. Whatever." Ethan took out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one, along with an unrepentant grin.

"I do not smoke." She'd quit before she married his brother. After that, she developed tobacco-related amnesia. Ethan smiled at her, seeing again how fine—how lovely—she was.

"My brother's still a goddamn a lucky man."

Sammi jumped into a swingseat. "Mama! Push me!"

"Back in a minute. Her majesty requires service."

Ethan grinned around a cloud of smoke until he remembered how Barry left him.

He'd never expected Barry to come home early. Barry almost never came home at all, much less early.

That was no excuse, really, except Ethan still tried to persuade himself it could be considered a reason of sorts, for why he was draped over the dinner table getting his ass pounded by a gym bunny named Lars when Barry arrived home that night.

Barry was never home. He was Castro's own Saint Barry of the Perpetual Volunteers—the only man Ethan knew who had never turned down an opportunity to donate money or goods or even his winter coat right off his back.

On top of volunteer work, Barry traveled. A lot. And by the time it sank in that many of the people Ethan knew, even his fuckwad, tightass brother Jim, were enjoying a little springtime romance and/or raising families at their age, Barry's absence had started to look like a damned good reason for finding what Ethan needed elsewhere.

Barry had not seen it that way. In a move so shocking that even now it caused a frisson of something like fear to flood Ethan's whole body, Barry had thrown Lars out of their home and brutally shoved Ethan into the shower. He'd torn his own clothing off and joined him, scrubbing him raw. Screaming at him. It was like nothing Ethan had ever experienced. Angry. Violent.

Barry had tried to wash away Ethan's betrayal, and then tried to fuck it away, but in the morning, he'd packed and gone, leaving Ethan with nothing but shame.

Barry said he couldn't ignore what he'd seen with his own eyes. He'd said that because he'd seen Ethan's infidelity firsthand, he could never forget it or forgive it.

Ethan released a thin cloud of blue smoke. He'd come home to what was left of his family, returning to Long Beach under the pretext of seeing friends and attending a cousin's wedding.

But finally—when it was entirely too late—Ethan understood the truth: Barry was home, and Long Beach was just another place Ethan had lived.

*****

"Wake up, Ethan. Listen to me. This is fucking important."

Ethan shook his heavy head and tried to make sense of the conversation, which he could tell by the agitated way the guy on the other end talked, had been going on for a while. Ethan sat up and pulled a cigarette from a pack next to the bed. He lit it and then grabbed an ashtray before he spoke.

"I'm here. Who is this?"

"My name is Gavin Frye. I'm a friend of Barry's. Have you turned on the news in the last couple of weeks? Read the newspapers? Burma is having a meltdown."

The hot pain of hearing about Barry from another man eclipsed the man's words until he got his brain working. It didn't help that he'd gone out drinking the night before.

"What's happened?" he asked, still half asleep, trying to remember the name of the trick who was lying naked beside him.

"The chaos started about three weeks ago. August eighth, year eighty-eight? Christ, you're as oblivious as Barry always said."

"Fuck you."

"Right. Half a million people marched on Yangon, dickhead. It's been crazy. The Burmese fucking government totally overreacted, trying to crush the strike, firing into the crowds. Activists are being killed outright or they're disappearing and thousands are being rounded up and sent to prison."

"Thailand is right next to Burma, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Ethan. It's right next door. Would you like me to mail you a map?"

"All right, so I don't fucking remember everything first thing in the morning." Ethan stubbed out his butt in the ashtray. "Does Barry need money or anything to get home?"

God, Ethan hated the weakness in his voice, that little catch of breath that betrayed his fear. He hated Gavin because he knew the bastard heard it. He hated himself more for caring one way or the other.

Saint Barry left Castro, and the volunteers, and him for fuck's sake. What was he supposed to do? "Whatever he needs, I'll see that he gets it."

"That may be harder than you think. I can't find him. He's not in Thailand, he might be in Burma. Might have been there when all the shit went down, anyway. The last I heard from him he was about to march on Yangon with a group of monks. No one has seen or heard from him since."

"Monks?" Ethan repeated, even as he felt the blood drain from his face. Everything but the phone seemed a million miles away. "What are you saying? Where the fuck is he?"

"I don't know. I called you because I thought maybe—" Gavin laughed weakly, "—he got in touch with you? You won't believe me but I've been praying he made it back home...even if he went back to you."

Frost laced its way over Ethan's heart. "He's not here."

"Don't fuck with me man, he didn't call you?"

"No," Ethan whispered around the lump in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. "No, he hasn't called here."

"Oh, fuck." Gavin hung up.

Ethan sat and smoked. He filled the ashtray before the man sleeping beside him—whose name still escaped him—woke up.

"E." A hand slithered under the sheet to try for his balls, but Ethan knocked it away. "Big E. Want some more 'me', E?"

Ethan snapped. "What are you, a fucking moron?"

"What?" There went that pretty pout that had seemed so intriguing the night before.

"I just got bad news. Get the fuck out. Sorry."

Ethan couldn't look at the man again. Whoever he was, he got up and dressed. He didn't bother leaving his card. Ethan heard the door slam. Good riddance.

As soon as he was completely alone Ethan froze.

*****

When the pounding on the door grew to absurd levels of loudness, or people called to him through the closed windows, Ethan sometimes looked to see who was out there.

Otherwise he left the drapes closed and the door locked and the phone off the hook on the off chance—the statistically improbable possibility—that he could avoid the bad news when it came.

People trying to deliver hugs, or support, or casseroles were met with an unanswered door and silence. They generally left angry and bewildered.

Failure to go to work that first week coupled with Ethan's refusal to answer the phone cost him his job. Failure to eat made him skeletal. Failure to come to the door for his family—such as it was—would get him a psychiatric evaluation.

At least that's what Jim told him when it was called to his attention sometime during the second week that Ethan was acting oddly.

By the time the middle of September rolled around he knew his friends believed—when they saw his silhouette pacing behind the closed blinds at night—that he was suffering a complete nervous breakdown.

They were right.

Ethan currently paced back and forth across the living room exactly 888 times a day, because if eight was an auspicious number, then he'd use it.

Ethan had exactly eight cups of coffee every morning. He would find eight rational reasons to believe that Barry was out there, alive and perfectly well. He would make paper cranes, in multiples of eight, threading them on strings and hanging them all over the house, with a goal of eight thousand—to start—in mind.

It was irrational, desperate, and insane. But then, Ethan figured, so was he.

Once or twice he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His jeans hung on him. Even his slimmest tailored dress shirts looked baggy. His overlong hair alternated between two basic styles, bird's nest and dirty.

Ethan was so goddamn broken inside if his parents saw him, they'd invite him back home.

He was on pacing: lap number 764, when the key turned in the lock on the front door. For the life of him, for his peace of mind, for his sanity, he could not make himself walk the few feet to find out who was there.

In the silence the sound of heavy bags hitting the tiled vestibule floor was earsplitting. For a brief moment, Ethan relaxed. Then—terrified he was going to fuck something up because he hadn't done all 888 laps—he began to walk again, faster.

In his heart he was perfectly certain that if he stopped—if he didn't keep on until he reached his goal—whatever waited in the foyer would disintegrate and disappear. He was equally certain that if he turned and looked, if he allowed himself to believe that Barry had come home and it wasn't true, he would die on the spot.

He heard someone enter the room behind him as he made trip number 793. He closed his eyes and kept going.

Barry dropped his jacket and bags in the foyer. He had heard the sound of footsteps in the living room. He hoped it was Ethan, because if anyone else was in this house, their house, rational or not he'd lose control and kill something.

His body wanted a glass of water, but his heart wanted to lean against a wall and simply watch Ethan as he slogged back and forth across the living room floor in what was obviously some sort of ritual of crazy. The wall won.

God, Ethan looked like crap. Jim said he'd gone mental. From the origami and pacing and counting, Barry thought Ethan's problem might be more esoteric than that.

Leave it to Ethan, the most pedestrian—the most profane man Barry knew—to create his own goddamn religion in a time of need. There was a world full of sacred altars, candles, incense sticks, prayer wheels, bells, books, crystals and magical thinking, and Ethan didn't give a damn about any of it, at all.

Yet here he was moving back and forth across the living room like hands on a rosary—why?

Ethan continued to move with his eyes closed. His feet hardly lifted off the ground. He was painfully thin. He looked exhausted. In fact, he looked insane. But it didn't stop Barry from leaning against the familiar wall, where he could look his fill.

"I brought you a snow globe."

Ethan stopped, then started walking again.

"I know that snow globes are corny, but when I was a kid I liked them, especially the kind that have glitter in them. Guess that explains a lot."

Silence flooded back into the room until Barry waded in again.

"I always wondered why the water didn't evaporate or grow mold, or whatever, but then I learned they have oil inside them, instead of water. I made one in school once, using mineral oil and a baby food jar. With reindeer in it or something."

Barry heard an anguished, keening sound from Ethan. He trembled, but stayed where he was.

Ethan came to a halt in the center of the room.

Barry sensed he'd completed whatever task he'd been performing, but he was damned if could figure out what it was.

Barry had no clue how to proceed. He pushed away from the wall and stepped into Ethan's space. Ethan's hands covered his face. If he reached out—if he touched Ethan—would he break whatever agonized spell he was under or kill him from shock?

He pulled Ethan's hand away from his face. Ethan's gaze finally rose to meet his. His brown eyes brimmed with unimaginable pain. Barry let out the breath he held. Ethan's large, square hands framed Barry's face with a touch, so gentle and so tender it barely felt like touch at all.

"Eth—"

"Shh." Ethan hissed.

His touch was a benediction. It was a sigh.

Ethan lighly traced the contours of Barry's face with his thumbs. Barry felt his remorse, his longing with every stroke, every brush and touch of Ethan's fingers as they ghosted over his skin.

Ethan loved him. For all his faults—and they were many and painful—Ethan loved him like no one had ever loved him in his life.

"I never thought I'd have this chance again." Ethan's voice was ragged with disuse.

Ethan's hands moved under Barry's clothing, slipping around on bare skin that trembled and muscles that contracted and shivered at his touch. He pulled Barry's shirt over his head, that last yank forcing it to pop through the smallish neck hole, leaving Barry feeling surprised and disheveled.

Barry opened his mouth to speak, but Ethan's hand rose up to smooth the words away. He moved into Ethan's arms, an occurrence as inevitable as—only days before—it had seemed impossible.

He tugged at the tie on Ethan's drawstring pants. Ethan stopped him. Their eyes met again. Ethan's gaze held anxiety and fear. Barry nodded.

Ethan exploded into action, raining hungry kisses on Barry's face and neck and fighting his hands for possession of drawstrings and zippers.

Ethan yanked Barry's belt buckle, pulling so hard it nearly knocked him backward, off his feet. Barry clung to Ethan's shoulders and buried his face in the crook of his neck. He tried to make some kind of mark there. Ethan's head tilted back and he groaned. One of his hands slipped inside Barry's jeans to protect him while the other took his zipper down.

Barry's cock dropped into Ethan's hands, heavy and full. He slid both his own hands down to cup Ethan's ass. He wrapped one of his legs around Ethan's hips to pull him closer and in response, Ethan picked him up and carried him to the wall, shoving his body back with a thud that forced the air from his lungs.

Barry half grunted, half laughed. "Ah, hahaha."

Ethan found his balls and Barry smiled against his skin. He rubbed his whiskery cheek against Ethan's stubble.

Ethan lifted him, pushing against him until Barry felt Ethan's cock nudge his sensitive ass.

Both Barry's hands came up and caught Ethan's face. "Condom, you cheating motherfucker."

Ethan sagged against him. Barry planted a punishing kiss on his lips.

When they broke apart Ethan begged his forgiveness, "Please, Barry. I swear to god. Never again. Never—"

"I have a condom, if you don't." Barry told him, more gently. He pointed to the place where his trousers had fallen on the floor. Barry felt Ethan slip away, felt his muscles shudder as he put Barry back on his feet.

A single tear slid down Ethan's cheek as he searched for what he needed.

Once Barry's body was solidly down and he'd found the rubber, Ethan surprised Barry by rolling it onto Barry's cock and not his own. He fell to his knees and took Barry into his mouth. He licked and sucked until Barry's entire length slid to the back of his throat, then swallowed around him with such finesse, Barry cried out to the ceiling.

Tentatively, Barry dug his fingers into Ethan's dark hair. It was so much longer than he remembered. A little oily.

Barry gripped it with both hands. He caressed Ethan, who sucked his cock like a fucking pro.

Barry's feet slid on the hardwood floor. It opened his stance, revealing his ass more fully. It gave him access to Barry's balls, the delicate skin behind them, and the puckered hole Barry ached for Ethan's questing finger to explore.

Ethan went into overdrive—hands and lips moving over Barry's skin. He demanded a response, and their past and familiarity guaranteed he'd get one.

Ethan rocketed Barry into an empty place where all that existed was pleasure and pain—the good kind of pain—the kind that filled and stretched him to the point he didn't think he could take much more, and then further still, until he felt limitless.

Pain pushed Barry toward release. He had to remove his hands from Ethan's hair to hide his face and muffle his screams.

He came down Ethan's throat and, once Ethan let him go, slid down the wall to fall on his ass.

Ethan responded by pulling Barry to his feet first, then dragging him into their bedroom.

They stayed there—except to answer the door for food deliveries—for six days.

Paradise.

All Ethan could think about, all he could bring himself to get interested in was the sunset, the acrylic champagne flutes, and the crisp, dry, ice-cold Cristal in them. Balmy trade winds warmed the air above the secluded Jacuzzi, bringing the scent of plumeria and suntan lotion with them. Water bubbled and swirled around him, just hot enough to relax his muscles but not so hot he'd have to get out anytime soon.

By far the most beautiful thing in their piece of heaven on earth was Barry. The little shit had shimmied out onto their private lanai in the tiniest pair of swim nothings and was currently singing a disco tune.

"Lap dance," Barry crooned his version of the classic Donna Summer tune, holding out both hands, then spinning away just as Ethan was about to grab for him.

"Lap dance, for loooooooove."

Ethan snorted champagne through his nose. Barry, who still gyrated like a first class go-go boy, slipped into the water beside him.

Paradise.

Barry threw his leg over Ethan's knees. "So...Let's dance, that lap dance,"

"Ah, God," Ethan tilted his head back as the friction became quality and then some.

"Let's dance, that lap dance. Let's dance, this lap dance... Toniiiiiiiiiiight!"

"Come here, you."

"This was your best idea, evah," drawled Barry after drinking a little more champagne. As usual, Barry went all Tallulah when he got a little sauced.

"Well, I figured after twenty years—"

"Mm-hm baby, don't remind me." Barry hummed while he pushed his hands down the back of Ethan's board shorts.

"Like you forgot," Ethan teased. "You've been telling me it's our twentieth since New Year's Eve."

"I didn't forget. Didn't you notice, I was singing our song?"

"Our song is Lap Dance?"

"Uh, no. Try to keep up, baby. Our song is Last Dance by Donna Summer. That was the song playing when we—"

"When I first got my hands on that magnificent, nekkid ass of yours," Ethan finished for him. "Like I'd ever forget that."

"I haven't forgotten what happened later either, when Coach McAllister pulled us both out the men's room by the scruffs of our necks and called our parents." Barry rolled his eyes. "I always had this theory he was jealous."

"Who wouldn't be jealous? You were hot. All wrapped around me, humping me like a bad dog."

"What about you?"

Ethan groaned. "Ah, here it comes."

"You were all like, snort, belch look at me, I'm a fucking baseball star, man. I love me some pussy..."

"All right, all right." Barry was half right. "Not my finest hours. We've had some good times though, huh, baby."

"Yeah, Bubba, we have." Barry began another erotic assault by grinding against Ethan's cock and kissing him like it was their last night on planet earth.

Ethan let him take the lead, knowing that they'd end up together, right where he wanted to be, whoever started the parade.

"Gonna shake your groove thing with me, baby?"

"As long as we're reliving the disco days."

Ethan stood up, lifting Barry and moving them both to the center of the Jacuzzi, where they could sink down into the water if they got on their knees. There was nothing better than having a wet Barry Moffit to dance with and kiss in the moonlight.

They danced while their kisses grew hotter and deeper.

Barry was just untying the laces on Ethan's board shorts when they heard the distinctive sound of the sliding screen door.

"Ew." Sammi emerged onto the lanai. She unzipped the white terry robe she wore to reveal her own swimsuit. Barry felt Ethan's entire body go rigid with shock under his hands. "Get a room, you two."

"We have a room," Barry told her. "This is our room."

"Yeah, it's cool." Sammi dropped into the water beside them. "You guys are so lucky to have a private Jacuzzi out here under the stars."

Barry made a confused cartoon noise. "Remind us again what you believe private means."

Ethan could breathe again. "And also, young lady, while we're asking questions. May I ask you why you're wearing a bathing suit that is nothing more than mockery and air?"

"Uncle Ethan," she razzed him. "This isn't the olden days. Nobody cares anymore if you show a little skin."

"Sammi, I can't believe your mother knows you're wearing that. You're not just showing a little skin. You're only barely hiding a little skin. The very least you could get away with and not be offered money."

Barry cut in. "What I think Ethan is trying to say, Sammi, is—"

"Don't talk for me, Barry. There's this thing we like to call modesty here on planet earth, and—"

"Knock, knock." The sliding screen opened again and Sarah and Jim joined them. They stepped into the bubbling water, laughing at Ethan's outraged expression.

"Uncle Ethan." Sammi waded to her father who put an arm on her shoulder. "I never thought I'd hear you talking like an old dude."

"I'm not sure I like the suit either. What do you think?" he asked Barry.

"Doesn't do a thing for me," Barry told him.

"All right, that's enough out of all of you." All four of their gazes landed on Sarah. "She's wearing that because I said she could wear it while were here in Hawaii. When we go back home, that suit gets put away except for back yard sun bathing."

"When she's by herself." Jim said.

"In the dark," Ethan added.

"It is a little skimpy," Barry said. Sammi plugged her nose and hid under the water.

"Someone makes sense at last," muttered Ethan.

Barry gave his hand a squeeze.

"So. A private Jacuzzi." Sarah relaxed back onto the tiles. "You were a genius to suggest this trip."

"Tell me again—"Ethan asked as Sarah lifted his acrylic flute of champagne to her lips, "—what you think the definition of 'genius' is?"

*****

Room service had come and gone, leaving breakfast in their suite along with fresh fruit and coffee. Ethan rolled over and blinked. He reached out and found the empty spot where Barry had been the first time they'd woken. They'd made love and slept, and made love again.

It was true what they said in the brochure, the islands had a magic all their own.

"Papaya, mango, fresh pineapple," Barry called out. "Oh...Somebody named Ethan is going to be so happy. There's French toast stuffed with cream cheese. This is—"

"Sounds great." Ethan got up and ambled into the bathroom to pee. "Be there in a sec," He washed up and brushed his teeth. While he was drying his hands he heard a crash and the clatter of breaking china in the main room. "Barry?"

Barry was silent when Ethan got there. He stood where the china cup had hit the floor—in his bare feet—oblivious while he read the newspaper.

"Don't move, you'll cut your feet." Ethan turned around to get a pair of sandals so he could help clean up the mess. When he returned, Barry still hadn't moved.

"What?"

Barry handed him the newspaper.

Ethan scanned the page carefully to find out what had upset Barry. Even though he hadn't said a word, Ethan felt anger vibrating just beneath his skin.

And there it was.

James Byrd Jr., murdered in Texas—a dragging death for fuck's sake—right there in the New York Times in fucking 1998. Poor man's body had hit a culvert, severing his arm and head.

Barry was white faced. Trembling.

"Ethan."

"Ah, hell." Ethan carried Barry to the sofa where he could put his feet up. Then he called room service for a broom and a dustpan. The maid wouldn't allow him to touch a thing; she made him and Barry sit on the lanai and eat their breakfast while she vacuumed up the mess.

Barry wasn't eating. He used an elegant little spoons to stir his coffee. He kept on stirring and stirring but he never actually drank it.

"What's going through your head?"

"Hm?" Barry looked up. "Is today the day we're doing Haleakala?"

"What?" That came out of the blue. "No, tomorrow. You're supposed to see the sun rise. We have to leave while it's still dark out there to see it properly."

"What's today, then?"

"I don't know. Maybe luau later tonight? I can't remember."

Barry's eyes had glazed over. "All right."

"But now you have to tell me what's on your mind. Talk to me."

"I'm horrified, all right?" Barry shoved his coffee away. "I'm sick. Stuff like that bugs me. I'm sorry if I'm not the best company right now. Sorry if that bugs you."

"Don't put words into my mouth. I know you're upset. I don't need you to be company. And for the record, stuff bugs me if it hurts you."

"I know. I'm sorry." Barry's eyes shimmered. "Christ. I'm overreacting."

"I'd hardly say that." Ethan scanned the article. It appeared Byrd, walking home from his parent's house, was picked up by three men and taken to the woods, where he was beaten, then chained to a truck and dragged for two miles. Fuck. "I wonder if it's even possible to overreact to something like that."

Barry closed his eyes. "I keep picturing what it must feel like."

"I know." He knew, too, that although they'd never really spoken of it, Barry had memories of brutality from Burma that made it more likely he knew firsthand what horrors people were capable of. "I'm sorry."

How trite that sounded, even to his own ears.

"The FBI are there, working the case. It's a civil rights violation and the NAACP is calling for them to add kidnapping, making it a capital offense. They're doing a prayer meeting. That's what it said in the article."

Ethan studied Barry's face. After twenty years it was almost as if he had subtitles.

"Anyway. Luau? Maybe we could learn to spin those poi ball things."

Ethan threw down his napkin. "Barry."

"What?" Barry pushed his chair back.

"At least say it. At least admit you think it's a big fucking waste of time being here when people are being persecuted, beaten, dragged around behind cars, and beheaded by bigots."

"Now who is putting words in someone's mouth?"

Ethan winced. "This shocked you. Appalled you. Don't talk to me about luaus, damn it. Get angry."

"Do you think I'm not angry?" Barry pushed out of his chair and went to the window. "Are you insane? I'm goddamn sick with anger. What the hell good does that do Byrd, or anyone else for that matter? What does that solve? It only causes me to snap at the one person I care about most in the world."

"You're such an idiot." Ethan wrapped his arms around Barry, who leaned back against him. Barry rested his head on Ethan's shoulder.

Ethan brushed Barry's hair behind his ear. "Aren't you mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" Barry glanced at him like he was insane for the second time in as many minutes. "I read the article, but I guess I missed the part where it said, 'San Francisco native, Ethan Holmes, was personally responsible for the crime in which'—"

"You know what I mean. You want to do something. Organize something. Go where the case will be tried and make trouble on the courthouse steps. I know you."

"I made a decision a long time ago—"

"No, you made a promise. To me. You've kept that promise and Amnesty International and PFLAG and UNICEF and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir have all had to muddle through without you."

"Ethan, why are you telling me something I already know?"

"Because I'm angry."

"I see."

"And there's this little, craptastically unhappy part of me that wonders if maybe...maybe you could have been doing something for ten years that would make this kind of thing go away, only I didn't let you."

Barry tensed in his arms. "You can't seriously believe I could have changed the outcome of that, Ethan."

"No. But we'll never know, will we? And you're thinking—if I know you—that since you haven't been part of the solution you may well have become part of the problem."

"I'm not thinking any such thing." Barry looked back at him. "I'm really not, Ethan."

"I wish I weren't thinking that."

"What are you saying?" Barry held still, but something sparked to life in his eyes. Ethan saw it with as much dread as hope.

"What was your gut instinct when you read that? Your first reaction?"

"I wanted to get on a plane to Texas and find whoever's holding that prayer meeting to see if I could help. Maybe do something for the family, for funeral expenses for Byrd. Then I thought of Gavin Frye, because he's got an anti-bullying pilot program in the schools in Washington State. I want to see if his program is cutting down the number of race or gender-orientation-related school bullying, do the math, you know, and then see if I can't find legislators who will listen, state by state, to—"

God.

"Go get em, tiger." Ethan smiled. "I'll always be there for you when you come home."

Barry slumped back against Ethan's chest. "Maybe I can do some of the work at home. We could find people who have the freedom to travel for the rest. Headquarter an anti-bullying program in San Francisco, but let others do the traveling."

"Aw, Barry." Fear and resignation built inside Ethan's chest like the pressure in those volcanoes they kept seeing films about during their vacation in Hawaii. "Maybe we need to renegotiate, huh?"

"No, baby, I made you a promise, and—"

"We were younger, then," Ethan reminded him. "And you'd been through a terrible ordeal. I was so scared I'd lost you—not that I'd lost you personally because I had—but I was scared the world lost you. That you were never, ever coming back."

"I made it home though. And I've never once doubted where home was after that."

"Me neither. I've kept every promise I made to you. But we're bigger now, aren't we?"

Barry punched him playfully. "Maybe you are."

"I mean we're stronger. More solid. I think it's time I told you how honored I am that you chose me, but that, well." Ethan's throat burned. "Maybe you shouldn't have had to choose."

"I didn't have to. I may have made you think—"

"I love you, Barry. I'd do anything for you. Be anything. You only have to ask."

Barry reached over his shoulder and brought Ethan's mouth down on his for a kiss. He turned and let Ethan wrap his arms around him completely. "I'm scared."

"I know."

"What if I don't make any difference at all? What if something happens and I lose you, or you lose me, or—"

"Not gonna lose me, Barry," Ethan said. "Not ever."

"If I travel you're going to be lonely again."

"You think that I'd—" Ethan shook his head. "I will never cheat on you again, Barry Moffit. I promised the stars and they brought you back to me. Apart from everything else that's happened, nothing on earth is going to change that."

Barry ran his open palm over Ethan's heart.

"On the other hand, I heard you mention Gavin Frye?"

Barry compressed his lips into a tight white line.

"Seriously. Hearing his name, just for a minute, I felt awful."

"There's only you," Barry said, "there will only ever be you."

Ethan licked his lips. "Care to put your life where your mouth is?"

"What?"

"Marry me?"

"What?" Barry stood up like he'd been goosed. He sat in the chair opposite Ethan.

There goes that tiny fucking spoon around the coffee again. "Will. You. Marry. Me."

"Aren't I married to you already?"

"No." Ethan was reasonably sure Barry would have filled him in if he were.

"Yes, I am."

"Did we get married when I wasn't looking?"

"Well. You can't get married. We can't. What would be the point? I meant, aren't we already married in all the ways that count?"

Suddenly, the thing Ethan wanted most in the world was to get married. "No. We aren't. You haven't promised to cleave only unto me."

"What the hell does that even mean? It sounds awful. Dangerous, even."

"It means you haven't stood up in front of all our friends and made an honest man out of me. It means we've been shacked up for twenty years. It means you could go away to Texas tomorrow—" his voice cracked, "—And not come back."

"Well, shit." Barry looked at him with what Ethan thought might be new eyes. "You're a conservative little thing under all the hokum, aren't you?"

"I guess."

"Well, then." Barry finally, finally put that tiny fucking spoon down. "Let the tournament begin."

*****

Dawn broke over Haleakala, and it was breathtaking. Ethan ignored it completely. He and Barry faced each other, their elbows bent, their hands clasped under their chins. Jim was the first to wind a plumeria lei around their wrists.

Ethan thought the girls had outdone themselves in the short amount of time they'd had to make up a special Hawaiian-inspired hand-fast wedding for them.

For a made up deal, it was remarkably poignant.

"For the past, which you've shared, in joy and sorrow." Jim worked the fragrant string of blossoms around Ethan and Barry's wrists.

"For the love you give each other, which has no beginning or end." Sarah wrapped another strand of flowers around their hands like velvety soft ropes.

"For the commitment you've made, one to another, to be bold, and faithful, and fearless in your future together." Sammi used her own flower lei to bind them.

They all said in unison, "You are one."

"We are one," Ethan and Barry echoed. Jim had to clear his throat. The girls were all smiles.

Ethan looked at his and Barry's hands, joined by mounds of flowers. So many emotions thundered through him.

It was beautiful. A magnificent sunrise was just beginning to warm the earth beneath their feet.

It was hokey, he never could abide any kind of ceremony, and he wanted to blush, or giggle, or make some kind of a lame-ass joke.

It was dead sexy, but only because of the way Barry was looking at him.

They kissed their first committed kiss and it was like a sacrament.

"Love you," Barry carefully pulled the leis off their arms and deposited them around Ethan's neck. "Love you, love you. Love you."

"I love you too."

It wasn't marriage, but his family stood up for him and shared his joy. Barry loved him and accepted his promises.

It was plenty.

It was enough.

It would have to be.

Ethan shifted the blueprints first one way and then the other. He scanned the floor but his reading glasses were nowhere to be found. He cursed and felt around for something to weigh the sheaves of paper down so they wouldn't roll up and off the desk as soon as his back was turned.

Ever since he'd started wearing reading glasses, Barry had been buying them for him in four-packs from Costco. Still they were never around when he wanted them. He'd just located a pair tangled up in the sheets of the bed when his cell phone rang. By the time he finally found that he was cursing out loud.

"Holmes," Ethan answered.

"Watson here," Barry said, for the millionth time. Barry still found the whole Watson thing funny and Ethan didn't hold it against him. Much.

"How's it going?" Ethan sat with his back against the headboard. "Are you making the world a better place?"

"I have egg on my face."

"What did you do now?"

"No, I mean, I really have egg on my face. Someone just drove by the circle and pelted my students with eggs. While I was trying to get them to stand down a couple hit me."

Ethan sat forward. "Are you okay?"

"One of them was hardboiled. I'm going to have a black eye." The noise in the background was so loud Ethan could hardly hear.

"Barry—"

"It's crazy loud here, I can't hear you too well. Let me see if I can—" The noise receded. "It's nothing for...worry about, except I'm covered with goo. I imagine by the end...day I won't smell too appetizing."

"Ah. Sulfur."

"We've had worse. I guess."

"You're at the traffic circle in Orange, right?" Ethan heard the rumble of car engines and honking.

"My students are doing really... remind them to take the moral high road when people are absolute shits. The police keep cruising by and...take much for them to tell us to move along. One of them tried to run into the street and kick someone's bumper when he called her a..."

"A what?"

"A pervert," Barry shouted.

Ethan laughed. He imagined that got Barry a hard stare or two.

"You just wanted to hear me say that really loud, didn't you?"

"Mmhmm." Ethan glanced at his watch. "I'm going over the blueprints for the Anderson kitchen, but since I won't be meeting the client until tomorrow afternoon, I volunteer to bring you a change of clothing."

"Really?"

"Sure. I'm just twiddling my thumbs here in the hotel. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. I'll bet you could even get me to carry a sign, if you play your cards right."

A loud commotion in the background and a great deal of honking precluded the beginning of whatever Barry had to say. "...and you can help me settle this crowd down. It's the last day before the election, and they're...worth your while."

"I don't know what you said, but I'm on my way."

Whatever Barry was up to would be more fun than playing hide and seek with his glasses again. In fact, he looked high and low for them again, finally giving up after five minutes. He tossed some clothes into a messenger bag and headed off to find Barry. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the bar on the way out of their hotel suite.

There they were. Right on top of his head, damn it.

*****

Barry gathered the faithful. Some were students of his and some were with the local chapter of PFLAG. They stood in a circle around him and listened. Signs and banners fluttered in impatient hands. Someone held an extra large rainbow flag that flapped and snapped in the breeze.

"For some of you this is the first time you're going to be able to vote in an election. Some of you are still disappointed by the last election. I see one or two faces I remember from the Kerry Campaign—nice to see you by the way."

Barry nodded in particular to one of the older women with whom he and Ethan had been corresponding through Christmas cards.

"You all know sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose. It's hard to see all your hard work—your hopes and dreams—come to nothing. It's hard to listen to people when they disagree, especially if they're hateful. It's hard to stand your ground and take an egg in the face and not react with equal or greater force."

Someone had come to him earlier with an ice pack for his swelling eye, so he gestured with it, making a rueful face.

"I've been through a lot of times like this. I'm here to tell you that even if you can't see the difference you make in the world, you are making one. You make a difference every time you make your point without cruelty, without belittling the other guy, without violence, without anger. You make a difference by setting an example of rational, civilized behavior and sticking to it, even in the face of uncivilized behavior. I wanted to take a little break so we could all take a deep breath and remind ourselves of that." Some of the protestors lowered their gazes.

"I know they make you angry. They want to get your goat. They want to see you lose control and do the very thing you vowed never to do. The last thing we want right now is to hurt our cause by lashing out." Barry stretched his arms a little. "Let's start walking again and let's keep our goal in mind. What do we want?"

And the kids were off, just like that, waving their signs and flags and hardly noticing that he wasn't right there with them. He let out the breath he'd been holding when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Ethan behind him.

"That was quick." Barry gave him a hug and a brief kiss.

"They did something to the streets—widened them since I was here last. Traffic seemed better." Ethan glanced around at the business and shops that surrounded them. "This hasn't changed much."

"No." He'd come to the tiny plaza a number of times for different campaigns, it was an engaging Orange County landmark with a lot of traffic. An artsy, avant garde niche in a stubbornly conservative part of California.

Ethan gently peeled back Barry's ice pack. "That's going be a beauty."

"Sorry." Barry was acutely aware that since Burma, Ethan fretted for him.

He looked Ethan over and sucked in a quick, satisfied breath. Ethan was still gorgeous after thirty years—maybe even more handsome than he'd been when they'd first met.

Admittedly, Ethan's voice hadn't even changed yet and in the meantime he'd had braces.

"What?" Ethan asked. "You look—"

"I was just thinking how hot you are." Barry shrugged. "Still."

"Right." Ethan rolled his eyes.

Barry wanted to grab a handful of Ethan's still-thick hair and shake him. Ethan did nothing but get more handsome every year, while he, Barry, seemed to be aging like an average man.

In his early thirties Barry'd discovered an alarming trend toward male pattern baldness. Instead of looking all silvery and cool, as Ethan's hair showed every promise of doing, Barry's was leaving the premises in a huff, never to return.

What he had left he cropped ruthlessly into the shortest buzz cut and he'd cultivated a penchant for attractive hats. These days Barry rarely left the house without one. The one he had on now had mercifully escaped an egg bath.

Ethan tilted his head and wrinkled his nose. "You're pretty hot yourself, even though you smell like hardboiled egg."

A little of the bravado left Barry and he sagged against Ethan. "I have to say, I didn't expect that. That took some planning."

Ethan reached into his bag and handed over a fresh shirt and trousers. "I dare you to change right here."

"I will." Barry peeled off the shirt he was wearing and grinned like a kid. As he pushed his head through the neck hole of a fresh T-shirt, he said, "My pants are fine, but thank you anyway. Come on, I have just the sign for you."

He folded his shirt inside out and rolled it up, giving it back to Ethan.

"Remember when you made me carry that 'My body, My choice' sign at the NOW rally during the first Bush administration? I'm still angry about that."

"If you recall we got a lot of support from that group later when the marriage issue popped up here on the ballot the first time, back in 2000. The ladies showed up in force and worked very hard. You can't buy that kind of quid pro quo."

"Sometimes you scare me. Please tell me you're still determined not to run for political office."

"I'm happy working in the background, Ethan." Barry held up a sign that read 'It Takes All Kinds Under The Rainbow'.

"You've been saving that just for me, haven't you?"

Barry snorted. "Truthfully? No. But since the Care Bears didn't show up I thought—" Ethan grabbed him around the waist and hauled him in for a kiss. Barry hid his face in Ethan's shoulder when some of the protestors started to clap and whistle.

Given that he taught Intro to Political Science only one night a week at a junior college, Barry hardly thought of himself as a teacher. He'd been surprised to find some of his students passionately concerned about social issues. Plenty of them opposed his politics openly. As long as they were civil, he allowed a lively discussion. He wasn't about to use his class as a pulpit.

When he'd told them he was traveling to Orange County to volunteer for the opposition to a proposed amendment to the state constitution making marriage in California legal only between a man and a woman, a handful asked to join him. At the time he'd demurred, saying that as their instructor he couldn't be seen to be manipulating them for his own agenda.

They'd followed him anyway, not in any organized fashion, and certainly not as part of a school trip. Some students had been enthralled with the idea of being part of a real campaign. Some had wanted to go to Disneyland and came along with their friends for the ride.

To a man—and woman—they had gotten into the excitement of wanting to make a difference and it made him feel young again to be with them.

Now they stared at him.

"Back to work, you."

One of the women, Carla, who had taken a couple of days off her day job as a nurse asked, "So have you two tied the knot?"

Barry shook his head. "We were handfast in ninety-eight."

"You've been together that long?" asked one of the other students. The boy was young, only about 19, not one of his students but a local who had joined their protest on the spur of the moment.

"We've been together forever," said Ethan. "Since high school. Over thirty years."

"No way." said Carla. "The longest I've lasted with anyone is a year and one month."

"Yeah, well. We admit to being stuck in a rut."

"Some rut." Ethan, waggled his brows. "You just told me how hot you still think I am."

"Yeah, well." Barry thrust the sign at him.

"You guys are like an old married couple," said a boy who admitted to coming along only to go on the Space Mountain Ride at Disneyland.

"That's because that's exactly what we are." Barry caught Ethan's frown.

Ethan's expression told Barry he was thinking hard. Sooner or later he would hear about whatever it was that was bothering him. Barry hoped he was only planning revenge for having to carry that stupid sign.

*****

"Okay, Barry," Ethan said. "You can open your eyes."

Barry looked around. They were in Long Beach, by the convention center, in front of the Hyatt across from where the old Pike once stood.

He tried to come up with a reason for this to mean something but couldn't.

"Well?" Ethan asked him, grinning, as if any moment he would come up with the answer to a riddle.

"I am so sorry. I can't think of why this should be significant. Why are we dressed like Fred Astaire? You know I love you but I guess I'm slow on the uptake this time. Please don't get mad at me."

Ethan did this facepalm thing that made Barry jump out of his skin. "You are about as romantic as a bag of turds."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okay. Here's how my thought process went. Our prom—where we first realized we were more than just pals—"

"You first realized. You're kind of slow on the uptake too."

Ethan took a deep breath. "Our prom, where I first realized that I loved you and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you... Better?" Barry nodded. "Our prom, was held at the Edgewater Hyatt Hotel. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes." Barry might have been having a little more fun than he'd admit to Ethan. He might have been making Ethan work for this, just as Ethan had made him work to pay him back for carrying that sign during their protest that afternoon.

He'd worked through their unofficial nap before dinner and the shower they took together afterwards, and he'd gotten extra credit for some waterproof lube he'd tucked into his shaving kit on the odd chance—

"Are you paying attention?" Ethan asked. His eyebrows had this habit of disappearing under the hair that still (damn him) flopped softly into his eyes.

"I am. You were saying about the Hyatt. It wasn't this one, you know. Or don't you remember that far back?"

"I'm getting to that. Of course I remember. Do you want to hear this or not?"

Barry relented. "Of course."

"All right, then. Pay attention. That Hyatt was torn down, and this is the new Hyatt. I'm taking you to dinner here, in their perfectly adequate restaurant and then I'm going to drag you into their men's room and do unspeakable things to you in the stall."

Barry stopped in his tracks. "You are shitting me."

"No. I am not." Ethan took him by the hand and nearly dragged him through the double doors. "Have I told you lately how handsome I think you look in a tux?"

"I can't wear a hat with this,"

"You could if you wanted to."

"Sure, a top hat. I'm not walking around Long Beach in a tux and a top hat. You're making me me expose my flaws."

"I don't think it's a flaw, Barry. I think it's sexy." He rubbed his hand along Barry's scalp and smiled. "I can't see that you have any flaws."

"All right." He brushed Ethan's hand away. "What's all this about?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm all for nostalgia, and I think this place is great. But what's really going on?"

"You'll find out."

As soon as Ethan told the host their name, Barry knew something was up. When they arrived at their table by the window, Jim, Sarah and Sammi were there.

Sammi slipped out of her chair for a hug, even though at 23 she was every bit the cool and elegant young sophisticate. "Hi Uncle Barry. Were you surprised?"

"I was," Barry told her. He sat down and shot Ethan an indulgent look. "Ethan told me he brought me here to—"

"I had to tell you something. You were trying to spoil my surprise."

Barry felt Qhis chest tighten at the sight of Ethan's engaging grin. "I wasn't. I just thought I ought to point out that this isn't the same Hyatt as the one from prom."

The waiter arrived and took their drink orders. Barry didn't think he'd ever get over hearing Sammi order an appletini.

"It's great to see you." he told them. "Last time was at this one's graduation."

Ethan snagged Sammi and gave her another squeeze. "That cost me."

"Thanks for the cruise, Unclesquared. Mom and I had a blast. I doubt there's a service we didn't try at the spa."

Barry smiled. "You're only on an all-expense-paid-by-someone-else cruise once."

"Seriously. Once." Ethan told her. "Just once."

Sammi bit her lip in an utterly charming way and Barry knew Ethan would do anything she asked of him. They caught up on family news and pressed Sammi to admit whether any young men had caught her eye.

Sammi was rather good at playing things close to the vest, Barry noticed. She had her mother's ability to deflect a personal question, generally toward Ethan, who seemed only too happy to talk about himself.

Barry was captivated.

After dinner the waiter brought a bottle of champagne and a heart shaped cheesecake that looked a little bit like Sarah and Sammi might have made it themselves. Once all the glasses were poured, Barry took his. Suddenly all eyes looked his way, not just at their table but all over the restaurant. He glanced around, expecting someone to make a toast. Instead Ethan came around the table to kneel in front of him.

Part of Barry's mind, the part that was always working on solving the next problem, the part that was used to confrontation, conflict, and negotiation traveled at light speed.

The part that controlled his motor functions? His speech centers? His ability to control the expression on his face? Died.

Ethan pulled out a box with two rings in it.

"Barry Moffit." Ethan began. "We've been together for thirty years. In all that time you've been—" Ethan kept talking but Barry didn't listen.

First, he was embarrassed. He was pretty sure that even without the whole this-is-the-night-before-a-major-election-with-gay-marriage-hanging-in-the-balance aspect of the situation he would not have chosen to be the center of attention in a restaurant full of people who were no doubt thinking, "Aw, how cute", or "God, how deviant".

Second, while the notion seemed perfectly fine while one was holding a sign that said "Equality NOW" he basically didn't want to get married.

Ethan knew this.

Barry wished for a minute that in his enthusiasm Ethan had remembered that fact.

Instead, Ethan was still talking as if he'd written something out and memorized it. He was droning on and on and suddenly Barry couldn't stand it anymore.

"Come with me." Barry caught him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He asked the startled waiter where the men's room was, aware of the irony of that, then pulled Ethan along like a toy on a string until he was, in fact, facing him inside the tiny stall.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Barry couldn't believe his ears. "You do that prince charming thing on your knees in the fucking Hyatt and you have to ask me what I'm doing?"

"Yeah?" Ethan sort of shook his head. "I guess so. Yeah."

Barry sighed. "Ethan. You embarrassed me. All those people were staring. It made me nervous and angry."

"Why? You told everyone today that we were handfast. I just want to make it legal."

"It is legal. Down to the last detail. Our revocable trust, our wills, our healthcare proxies. It's legal."

"Barry, we're not married. We could be married. I thought you of all people would want to—"

"Just because I want gay marriage to be legal doesn't mean I want to go out and buy my Vera Wang wedding dress. I know you don't understand this, Ethan, but couldn't you have talked to me before you involved our family?"

"I thought it would be a nice surprise."

Barry slumped. "I'm sure you did. It is. It would be." He put both hands on his face and rubbed, forgetting his black eye. "Ow."

Ethan pulled his hands away and kissed the bruise. "What. Tell me now."

"I—" Barry tried to explain. "I like things the way they are."

"But even you admit that a licensed marriage is—"

"I admit no such thing, Ethan. The important thing is if people feel that marriage is the pinnacle of commitment they should marry. To someone our age, who was probably indoctrinated by the church and society to think marriage is the 'happiest day of a person's life' it could be a good thing."

"What are you saying? You don't care? We never have to make it official?"

Barry thumped Ethan on the chest, hard. "How dare you say what we have isn't official."

"Hey." Ethan rubbed the spot.

"Don't make me use the B word," Barry warned.

Barry could tell Ethan was going through all the B words in his vocabulary.

"Bourgeois, Ethan. It's bourgeois to get married just because everyone else is. It's not a deeper or more meaningful or more spiritual commitment than the one we made in Hawaii. It's just more expensive and more public and we already have all the damned kitchen crap we will ever need."

Ethan remained silent and Barry started to feel badly, like maybe he'd put a little more English on his refusal than he'd meant to.

"Look," Barry told him. "I don't want to hurt your feelings. If you want, we can get married. But can we forgo the Gidget and Moondoggie clichés and just, I don't know, make it between us?"

"I wanted to share my happiness with my brother. With his wife and his daughter who are the only family I have left. I'm sorry that offended you, or embarrassed you or made you mad. I wanted to propose to you. It might be about me this time, and not about you."

"For the love of God," Barry caught Ethan's hand. "Knowing me for thirty years, couldn't you have proposed in a more private place?"

He brought Ethan's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. When Ethan's expression softened, Barry opened his hand and tongued his palm and the pads of his fingers.

"I'm sorry I spoiled your surprise."

"Fellating my thumb isn't going to improve my mood."

"You say that now, but already, your eyes are glazing over and you're asking yourself how much trouble we can get into here if I do this to your dick."

"Uh," said a voice from outside the stall. "I'm sorry to be a...you know...but pretty soon it's not going to be the most romantic place in here..." Someone or something made a terribly rude noise. "Just so you know."

Barry covered his mouth to keep from laughing and Ethan yanked open the stall door.

They both washed their hands and fled the bathroom before it was too late. Barry practically fell out the door of the hotel with Ethan following close behind.

"What on earth ever made me think I'd want to do that bathroom thing again?" Ethan asked after he got control of himself.

"I don't know. Things always seem more fun in retrospect." Barry allowed Ethan to guide him toward a small cement bench where they could sit down. "Should you call Jim?"

"In a minute." Ethan said. "So it's marriage per se that turns you off. It's not wearing a ring and saying you're married to me?"

"Of course not." Barry leaned his head against Ethan's shoulder. "I don't like being told to get married. I don't like how crazy people get over the subject. It's a heteronormative construct that doesn't apply when—"

"How would you feel if Sammi just shacked up with some guy?"

"That's different. There could be children involved, and they need to be protected by the law. You and I..."

"Yeah? You and I what?"

"I kind of feel like what we have is more, somehow. Not less. Like what we have is special. Except for a few false starts, we've been rock solid against all the odds."

"I see," Ethan put his arm around Barry. "But maybe what you've got is a kind of snobbery."

"It is snobbery. We didn't fuck it up like over fifty percent of the people who have called us perverts."

"That means something."

"So what do you want, Ethan?" Barry poked him playfully on the ribs. "Can we compromise?"

Ethan was about to get out his cell phone but Barry stopped his hand. "Let's go back inside."

"People are going to stare twice as much, since you refused my proposal and dragged me to the bathroom."

"Our family is here to see us. We should go back." Barry stood up.

"Will you at least wear the ring I bought you? I must have looked at thousands. These have stones inlaid in the shape of mountains."

"No shit?"

Under the dim landscape lighting Ethan pulled the rings back out. "Here," he told Barry. "See?"

Each ring had several colors of opaque gemstones inlaid into the gold. They created a mountain landscape that went all around the band.

"That's beautiful. You went to a lot of trouble for this."

"It's solid." Ethan said. "And inspired by nature. I thought—"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Barry threw himself at Ethan. "You are the most infuriating, amazing, wonderful, fabulous..."

"I love you too, Barry."

Ethan's kiss conveyed all the love he'd felt for Barry for the whole of his life.

"God. We're drawing a crowd," Barry said against his lips.

"Think of it as a No on Proposition 8 demonstration."

"If 8 passes, I can't marry you."

"In California." Ethan reminded him. "If it goes down in flames you and I are hitting City Hall for a license next week."

"No big wedding. I'm not planning—"

"Sammi said she'd take care of everything."

Barry saw himself wrapping Jordan almonds in little tulle circles with Barbie pink ribbons and pushed Ethan away.

"You still aren't taking into consideration my feelings at all. I told you. I don't want to get married. We are married. It's a bullshit, bourgeois—"

"And you're not listening to me," Ethan said. "This is so important to me I took the chance you'd embarrass the hell out of me in a restaurant. I've listened while you call what I want bourgeois, and heteronormalated or whatever. I've listened to you put marriage down, when it's what I want, damn it. I want what everyone has—if only because I can't have it."

Barry took a deep breath. "In that case. If it's what you want, I... What can I say? I want you to be happy."

"I don't know why, but I want it, Barry. I've wanted it for a long time, I just haven't said anything."

"It's been legal all summer, why didn't you say something sooner? We could have gotten married then."

"I figured why bother if they're just going to take it away." Ethan pursed his lips. "Why bother if somebody can come along and say it doesn't count."

"Doesn't what we had in Hawaii count?"

"It wasn't marriage."

Barry sighed. Every day Ethan surprised him. "Can we agree that if it isn't going to be legal here, where we live, we can let it go?"

Ethan's lashes lowered. "I guess so. It doesn't mean as much if it's not legal and binding in the state where you live."

"Is it going to break your heart? This thing could go either way. I don't have much hope, myself."

"It's going to piss me off." Ethan took his hand. "But as long as we're together my heart will be whole."

"All right then," Barry held out his hand. "You have a deal."

"All right then," Ethan shot Barry one of those grins that made his knees a little wobbly. He led the way back into the hotel. "And wait till I get you home. How embarrassing was that? Being dragged into the fucking bathroom while I was trying to propose marriage."

"Not nearly as embarrassing as having every damn tourist waiting to sing the love theme from Titanic after I said yes."

"I had planned to sing that song from Lady and The Tramp. This...is the night..."

"God, no. Pipe down already." Barry tugged on Ethan's hand to stopped him. "You're sure you're okay? I mean with not getting married if—"

"Hell no, I'm not okay with it. But I happen to be handfast to a political activist, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's 'never say never'."

"Until tomorrow then." Barry nodded.

"Until tomorrow." Barry and Ethan entered the restaurant together, hand in hand.

The Cursed Noel

Ethan's actual bones felt tired. His nose was so cold it was numb. He had pinesap on his skin, on his clothes, and in his hair. If he had to hear Karen Carpenter sing "Merry Christmas Darling" one more time he knew he was going to go all chick-from-Exorcist and puke. For six months he'd been telling Barry he didn't think anything in the world could be worse than disco.

Oh, how wrong he'd been.

Ethan took a drag off his cigarette and hoped his boss wouldn't notice he'd gone missing again. It wasn't that he didn't like Christmas trees. He had a deep and abiding respect for anything under which people might leave presents for him. But there wouldn't be anything under the tree this year because his parents had chucked him out.

Ethan hardened his heart ruthlessly against any fissures that might be cracking the cold granite knob he'd been trying to visualize in its place.

This year—and maybe all the remaining years of his life—he wasn't welcome home at Christmas. He blew out a stream of smoke, forming a blue gray cloud in the odd, artificial light of the supermarket parking lot.

He'd started smoking around Thanksgiving to get warm and not just because the 'great gray city of love' was fucking freezing that time of year. When he'd gotten caught with his lover Barry in the bathroom at prom, a chill had gone through his whole body. He was afraid he'd feel cold for the rest of his life

Not that Ethan would change the outcome of that night. Barry was as essential to him, as inevitable as breathing.

His new addiction to nicotine notwithstanding, Ethan wasn't about to give up breathing, either.

It had been nearly impossible making ends meet. His parents had been happy to disown him, thinking he'd give in so they'd cough up the money for school. Money for college was a memory, but he'd applied to San Francisco State and thrown himself on the mercy of financial aid. He and Barry currently shared an old two-bedroom apartment with four other students, all of whom had gone home for Christmas.

Theoretically that could be good times.

Barry had a job at Nick's Lighthouse waiting tables, and the tips he brought in were good because he had a gift for making every customer feel like the only one that mattered to him. Ethan had a harder time. He knew he could be personable. He knew he had once been charming, even. Everyone's favorite jock. But lately he'd been tossed from one job after another because suddenly, inexplicably, he could no longer be a team player.

Barry had supported him and loved him, opened his heart and his body—given everything he had—and still it was a cold fucking winter.

Barry was even forgoing the pleasure of spending Christmas with his own family where he was welcome, where they were both welcome, because Ethan's misery wanted company.

Ethan refused to do 'family'. He'd shut the subject down with an ultimatum. His brain knew it was wrong and his heart knew it was cruel, but he'd informed Barry that if he wanted to go home for Christmas he could go by himself and not bother to come back.

"Holmes," the owner of the tree lot barked. "You're not being paid to smoke."

"Sorry, sir." Ethan threw his butt down and ground it out. He clapped his gloved hands against the cold and prepared himself to cut the bottom off another scrawny tree. That's what kept him at this job—the chance to fire up a chainsaw and cut something the hell up.

He finished out his shift without saying more than a few words to anyone. He'd gotten some good tips from helping people tie trees to their cars. One guy handed him a five dollar bill wrapped around a fat joint and drove off without a backwards glance. Ethan had glanced at it guiltily and put it in his pocket.

Once his boss had the place locked up, Ethan headed for the bus. The joint burned a hole in his pocket.

Because he'd been a jock, Ethan had a whole lot of experience with booze and none with drugs. They were illegal, and on top of that, if Coach had caught any member of the team using, he'd have cut off their balls. Ethan didn't want carry a joint, but didn't want to throw it away.

In the morning he'd ask Barry what he should do with it. Barry would know. Ethan thought he could talk Barry into trying it once, even though Barry was laced straighter than Coach had ever been—about shit like that, anyway.

It was only two more days until Christmas. If he made as much as he had the two previous days, he could pay off the layaway for a car stereo he'd bought for Barry.

Barry would be flabbergasted. He'd never expect Ethan could keep a job for any length of time, much less that he'd spend his money on a gift.

Ethan had been paying over time for exactly the stereo he wanted. Barry loved music. He needed a system where he could crank up the sound and blow out the windows, but because he had to park on the street, it had to feature hidden components. No point in giving him a sound system that would get his car broken into as soon as they put it in.

The idea for a music system had evolved slowly and from a part of Ethan's brain he used rarely, if at all. He'd talked with Sarah Emerson a lot over the phone—she was the only person in Long Beach who still had a kind word for him.

She'd tried unsuccessfully to get him to come home with Barry for the holidays.

"What are you going to do when Barry realizes you expect him to cut family ties because yours disowned you? That's selfish and that's not like you. What are you thinking?"

"It's not like that," Ethan had told her. "Barry and I are family now. We don't need anyone else."

"Have you asked him about that? Did he tell you that he doesn't want to see his family?"

"Not in so many words."

"Of course not. You can't make him choose between the man he loves and his family. He probably feels horrible. He's an only child—think of his parents. He's not going to see them, sure, but they're not going to see him either. That's not right."

"He called them. They said they understood. Money's tight."

"Of course they said that. They love him. They don't want him to feel guilty." She sighed. "You, on the other hand, should be ashamed of yourself."

"Why, just because I don't want to go where I'm not welcome?"

"What makes you think you're not welcome at Barry's?"

"I'm not welcome in Long Beach anymore. Anyway, all I'm going to see is everything I can never be part of again. I don't want to go home."

"Then tell Barry to go home without you. Tell him you can have your Christmas when he gets back. Let his parents be his Santa Claus because they still want that. You of all people should be happy he still has that."

Ethan was silent for a long time. "I should, shouldn't I?"

"You should. No one wants to be held in a death grip... It only makes sense not to smother him—not to cut him off from his family. He'll only resent you if you do. You don't want to lose what you have over that."

Sarah's words made so much sense he'd taken it up with Barry as soon as he got home from work.

So of course, they'd had the mother of all fights.

"Are you trying to piss me off?" Barry had finally yelled after they'd argued for about an hour. Barry wouldn't consider spending Christmas with his family and leaving Ethan in their apartment alone.

"No, of course, not. I'm trying to do the right thing, Sarah says—"

"Sarah? You talked this over with Sarah? First you tell me I have to choose and then you talk it over with your girlfriend? Are you seriously that stupid?"

Ethan always felt something stiffen his spine when Barry hit that note. "Don't call me stupid."

"I didn't call you—"

"I'm trying to do what's right."

"Why? Because little miss prom told you to? You were perfectly happy to make me stay here with you for Christmas break until someone else told you it was wrong?"

"Yes... No. She just said it was selfish."

"It's not like that's a newsflash, Ethan," Barry said nastily. "You're not exactly a giver, are you?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You were utterly content—since you no longer had any family to speak of—to tell me I couldn't have mine either. You said all that stuff about us being each other's family now. About how we didn't need anyone else. And now you want me to spend Christmas by myself?" Barry's eyes shimmered with tears. "Did you make other plans?"

"No." Ethan pulled Barry's rigid body into an embrace. "Hell no. Is that what this is about?"

"You talked to Sarah." Barry broke down. "Ten guys—in this apartment building alone—waiting to fuck you and you call Sarah. I'm such an idiot."

"What?" Had he missed something vital? "What are you talking about?"

Barry threw himself at Ethan, wrapping around him like a blanket, almost knocking him over. "Don't you get it? I love you. Love you, love you, love you. Always. When you figure out how one-sided it is—how much you've given up to be with me—you're going to run like your ass is on fire. Wait until after Christmas. Please, let's have Christmas, just you and me, like you said. We're all the family we need."

Ethan framed Barry's face with both hands. "How much coffee have you had, Moffit?"

Barry snuffled. "Shut up."

"Sure." Ethan kissed Barry's damp eyelids. "But first let me say that Sarah is my friend. Friend omega. The only friend I have left, besides you. You're just going to have to live with it."

"If you were with her you could have it all back," Barry whispered.

"Let's say I believed you—that my parents could get some sort of convenient sexual-identity memory loss and forget I'm queer and welcome me back home for Christmas. Let's say they'd start paying my tuition, cough up room and board, give me back my car, take me to Hawaii with them when they go this summer... Hey. What was I thinking?"

Barry punched his arm. "You don't have to—"

"How rude. I was going to say that even though I don't know who the fuck I am, I know who the fuck I'm not."

Barry grinned up at him and sniffed sort of wetly. "Shoot."

"When will you get it? There's nothing I wouldn't give up to be with you."

Barry took his hand. "My parents will understand that this is our Christmas. They do understand, they've said so."

"Really?"

"It'll be just the two of us. That's exactly the way I want it."

He and Barry had strung popcorn. Barry hummed Christmas music while they worked. Ethan had watched him, listened to him, and the germ of an idea began to form.

At its most basic was the notion that Barry was the music in Ethan's life. Barry provided the highs, the lows, the depth, and the resonance, the richness that made Ethan's existence in a foggy gray city where he was lonely most of the time and always cold, bearable.

Pleasurable.

Barry made everything beautiful—it was only the absence of Barry that made Ethan resent his many jobs, his classes, and the grim necessity of relying on public transportation since he'd had to leave his car behind.

Not normally given to this kind of thinking, Ethan nevertheless followed it to its logical conclusion. Barry was the soundtrack of Ethan's life. Ergo, Barry needed to be wrapped in music of his own—beautiful music with high quality sound that surrounded him and carried him along wherever he went.

An emotional wave caught Ethan up and swept him along and into what could finally be called enthusiasm for a season that had caused him nothing that year but despair.

While Ethan got excited about Barry's gift, he admitted to a certain lack of imagination. Linear thinking led him from the metaphor of Barry as music to Frank's Auto Sound, and he'd hit on the idea of a second job at the tree lot when he'd realized that since Barry worked nights the whole thing could be a lovely surprise.

Two days before Christmas, Ethan unlocked the front door of their apartment and turned on the lights. It was all so fucking drab.

Barry had done what he could, purchasing a tiny little tree and going all crafty with homemade ornaments. When they'd got it, they'd been too broke to afford a string of lights.

Ethan tried counting his blessings. He was thankful the guys down the hall were twenty-one and didn't mind supplying their young neighbors with beer if they could come up with enough cash for a six-pack. He went to the fridge and got one, taking a long swig before he went any further.

He was grateful his roommates were all gone and Barry worked late.

He was grateful Barry believed he was studying late every night for an art history project at the public library instead of working at the tree lot.

He was grateful for the element of surprise.

He was grateful by the time Barry got home he was usually so exhausted he'd do little more than curl up in his arms before falling asleep. Once or twice Barry had murmured that Ethan smelled like Christmas but he never connected it to the tree lot.

To Ethan, Barry smelled like home. He was grateful for that.

Ethan sat on the couch watching the news, sipping his beer and allowing peace to wash over him. He had the faintest niggling worry that things rarely ever went as he planned for them to go.

On Christmas Eve he could pick up Barry's gift and put it under the tree with a voucher for its installation. He fell asleep right there and dreamed of music and Barry and how far he would go just to see the boy's face light up with a smile.

*****

Barry was not smiling. Doubt and fear immobilized him, after which, a shit storm of anger was well on its way.

Sensing Ethan's mood and knowing how lost he felt since they'd moved to the Bay Area, he'd been wondering what he could do to help Ethan feel a little holiday cheer. He'd saved his tips, bartered his work time, and gotten Christmas Eve, the whole day and night, off work.

It had taken some spectacular planning on his part because he was the newest member of the wait staff. He'd given up a number of other days including New Years' Eve for the privilege.

But when he'd gotten home early on the twenty-third, the apartment was dark and Ethan wasn't there.

At first Barry didn't think anything of it. He headed to the library where Ethan had been studying all week. He was in a terrific mood, certain he could warm his lover's heart with a little extra attention and a let's-do-this-or-that list of inexpensive (well, totally free) things they could do to celebrate their day off together. But then he found out from a friend on the staff that Ethan had been nowhere near the library since Thanksgiving.

The pain in Barry's heart began to crystallize through his bloodstream.

Ethan had lied to him.

However he defined it, however he tried to see Ethan's side, it made him faintly sick.

Barry stayed at the library, thumbing through a number of magazines. He read articles about whole families who were saved from drowning after they'd driven off of bridges and people who claimed they'd been rescued by angels in heartwarming true holiday miracles.

He spent a little time crying behind the stacks in the section on gardening. Just sitting there, crosslegged on the floor, crying. He asked himself how he could have been so stupid but the answer was right there.

He was stupid for Ethan.

He would always be stupid for Ethan.

Finally the library closed for the night, forcing him out into the cold, crisp air.

For once, the city suited his mood—it was crowded and noisy and lonely at the same time. Brightly colored but cheerless while his heart was breaking.

Barry headed to the parking lot to get in his car and go home to his parents' house. He could spend the few free days he had with the two people on earth he could count on to love him unconditionally. While he was there, he could think over his plans for the future.

*****

Ethan was way past worried and heading straight for frantic.

Barry had disappeared.

Ethan had contacted their few friends and received no news. It was almost five a.m. and there was not a single other place he knew to look.

Where could he possibly be?

Hospitals, maybe. Ethan hadn't yet resorted to calling hospitals and morgues, but that was what his parents usually started screaming when he was late coming home.

Ethan had thought his parents were being overly dramatic, but the sick worry he felt in his gut when he contemplated Barry, lying in a hospital somewhere, hurt, gave him a new perspective.

When the key finally scraped against the aging lock on the door, Ethan leaped up from the couch, ready to kiss Barry when he walked through it, then kill him and fuck him or just throw him out the window. In the end, he was simply so glad all he did was stare. Pain in his throat made it impossible for him to talk.

Barry slammed his keys onto the kitchen counter and walked past Ethan. He yanked the refrigerator open hard enough to rattle its few contents. He took out one of the last two beers and chugged it down before he let out a loud belch. Then he grabbed the other and took it with him into the bedroom.

Ethan frowned at that. "You want to tell me why you're so late?"

His heart had hurtled so hard around his ribcage when Barry walked in the door. Now it was doing this exhausted kind of flopping thing. Barry's attitude pissed him off.

He wanted that beer, but the last thing he wanted was a fight.

"Where were you?" Ethan asked.

"I was at the library, studying for an art history project." Barry pulled his battered backpack out of one of the closet and started shoving his clothes into it, and right on cue, even though he didn't want it, Ethan knew he had a fight on his hands.

"I can explain."

"I don't want to hear it. I'm going to visit my family after all." Barry reached into the drawer and scooped out socks and underwear and T-shirts. "I think you're right. Some time apart is a good idea."

"I never said that."

"Nevertheless, that's what I heard."

"I thought you wanted to spend Christmas just the two of us here..."

"I miss my mom." Barry pulled away when Ethan tried to touch him. Ethan tried again, stepping into his path and slipping his hands around Barry's waist. He went in for a kiss but Barry turned his head at the last second. "Don't."

"Barry—"

"I got the evening off." Barry stuffed jeans in with his other things, squashing them, mashing them down with the heel of his hand and emptying the contents of his nightstand drawer in with them. "So of course I looked for you at the library."

"I said I can explain, Barry."

"I'm sure you can. Someday, I'm sure I'll want to hear it." He cracked open the second beer and took a long swig before wiping his arm across his mouth. "But not today."

"It's just that I got this idea, Barry. And I wanted to surprise you, and Sarah and I—"

"Ah. How did I know that name was going to come up? It isn't exactly a surprise, so far."

"Barry, I don't think—"

"You never think. I got the night off so I drove over to the library to see you. I have this idea I'm going to warm up this city for you single-handedly. I'm going to show you a Christmas you'll never forget, but you're where? Not where you said you'd be. Not where you've been saying you've been for three weeks. Did Sarah know where you really were?"

"Yeah, but Sarah's in Long Beach. It's not like—"

"I know you weren't physically with her. Only you told her the truth and you told me a boatload of lies." Barry fastened the pack together, tugging at the straps. "The difference between me and you? It's that that I'm smart enough to understand why that might be a problem for me."

"Okay, that's the last fucking time you get to say I'm not smart." Ethan yanked the beer out of Barry's hand and finished it off in one swallow, and then tossed it into the hard plastic trashcan they kept next to their bed.

Barry rolled his eyes.

"I get what's eating you and I get why. But what I don't get is why all of a sudden you can't wait to can my ass over something you could ask me about."

"What do you mean?"

"Guess I'm not smart enough to understand a superior mind at work, but if I was all pissed off at someone because they did something I didn't like, I might even ask them why they did it. At least if I thought it was worth my time. If they were important enough for me to double check that I wasn't jumping to stupid ass conclusions."

Ethan shot Barry a final filthy look and walked back out into their tiny living room, cramped as it was with the belongings of the two boys who slept on the fold-out couch there. He switched on their tiny black and white television and sat down. He folded his arms and waited, pretending to be fascinated by the morning news.

Barry came out carrying the backpack. "Why'd you lie?"

That was an opening of sorts. Ethan knew if he got this wrong he could lose the only person he cared about in the world. "Think a minute. When have I ever told you the truth at Christmastime?"

Barry frowned.

"The Hot Wheels '65 Mustang? And the fastback, the 'Bullet' car?" Ethan prompted.

Barry edged over and sat down next to him. "You got those for me."

"And...? Before Christmas I told you...?"

"That Sav-On was sold out of the fastback."

"And the year of that heinous Raindrops song?"

"You said Wallich's Music City was closed due to a burst pipe."

"And you believed me. I went with Dad and got it at Fedco anyway, I only lied to throw you off the trail." Ethan wished he had another beer.

"Oh, my God. You were lying to get me a present."

Ethan wasn't too proud to rub it in a little. "And of course you had to turn that into some sort of romantic cliché, running home to your mother. Like I Love Lucy, for fuck's sake."

"Ethan." Barry's eyes sparkled.

"Calling me stupid."

"I never called you stupid."

"Come here, you." Ethan pulled him into his arms. "I'm sorry. I should have been more up front. I got a second job. I've been working for three weeks, and—"

"You what?" Barry thumped on Ethan's chest, "Far out. Three weeks?'"

"Have you noticed you have a bad habit of interrupting me? Yes. Three weeks. I've been working in the tree lot at the market."

"That's why you always smell like pine trees." Barry relaxed into his arms.

Ethan could almost breathe again. "I made pretty good money, too. People gave me tips. This one guy... Hey."

"What?"

Ethan dumped Barry off his lap and went to the kitchen. He'd left his joint in the drawer by the phone the night before.

"You scared me, Barry. I thought I'd have to call the hospitals and the damned morgue." Okay, he had turned into his parents whether they acknowledged him or not.

He returned to the living room with his illegal tip. "Look what somebody gave me."

"Is that—"

"Yep. You ever tried it?"

Barry blushed hotly. "No. Why would I try it, all you had to do was look at the stoners to know it wasn't exactly—"

"What?" Ethan raised his eyebrows.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Ever wanted to try it?" Ethan grinned.

"No." Barry caught the side of his lip between his teeth. "Not really."

"I'm going to."

"Did you ever before?"

"Coach'd have had my ass off that team so fast—"

"Yeah, but then Coach found about me having your ass," Barry reminded him.

"Season was over by then anyway." Ethan had yet to get over being manhandled out of prom. "Did you know Sarah's dating my damned loser brother?"

Barry went still. "Does that bother you?"

"Yeah, but only because I can't stand the thought of him landing a chick as fine as her. Plus now I doubt her judgment."

Ethan laughed and Barry laughed with him. They sank together onto the couch.

"What do you say, Barry, shall we spark her up?"

"Well." Barry still hesitated.

"We are in our own home."

"Mmhmm." Barry agreed.

"And we don't have anywhere to go. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."

"We don't have to leave the house."

"I even have enough cash to call for a pizza if we get hungry."

There was no sound except for commercials on the television.

"So what the fuck, light it. Just my luck it'll be like reefer madness and I'll want to kill my grandma or something."

"Yeah, right. Your grandmother's far enough away you'd probably sober up before you chainsaw her. Probably."

"I'll just have to take that chance." Barry leaned forward and got Ethan's lighter. Excitement shone in his eyes.

"All right." Ethan lit the thing. It crackled as he inhaled, causing a couple sparks to fall to his lap. They went out before they landed but he brushed them off quickly anyway. He handed the joint over to Barry, who took a tentative puff and immediately coughed the smoke out again.

"That's awful." Barry choked.

Ethan took it back. He'd at least seen enough people do this that he wasn't a spaz. "Here, blow out all your air."

When Barry was done coughing he did as he was told.

"Now take a hit, then hold it." Ethan held the joint to Barry's lips and watched as he pulled in smoke. Barry's eyes watered but he held his breath. He gazed at Ethan with such trust, Ethan couldn't help falling in love all over again.

"You're so fucking pretty," Ethan blurted out.

One of Barry's eyebrows went up as he blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Shit must be working already, because I could swear I just heard you call me pretty."

"I did." Ethan refused to back down. "You are pretty. You have those eyelashes."

"Everyone has eyelashes." Barry watched Ethan inhale. He should have known Ethan'd have some weird but sexy way of inhaling smoke that made him seem... "Ethan?"

"Mmhmm."

Barry sank under his arm and nestled in. "I hate that you smoke. It makes your breath smell like a dirty bar, but damn, you look—"

"What?" Ethan deliberately blew smoke in Barry's face.

"Never mind." Barry took another hit. He blinked a few times. "What're you supposed to feel when you do this?"

"I don't know. The only thing I've ever heard anyone say is it makes them hungry."

"Mm." Barry's hand made a lazy circle over Ethan's thigh. He wondered if it was his imagination or if it was moving higher up on his leg?

"Food sounds good though," Barry murmured.

"Mmhmm."

"Like, something...salty." Barry took a long experimental lick up the side of Ethan's neck, and then covered Ethan's lips with his own. "Or something sweet."

"Yeah," Ethan said stupidly, realizing he'd been feeling the effects of the dope for a minute but hadn't known it—not until Barry's tongue hit his neck and it made his head spin. "Sweet."

Barry turned his body to face Ethan.

"So," he said, straddling Ethan's lap. He took another hit, sharing the kiss and the smoke and the dizzying press of one hard dick against another.

Ethan fell onto his side and they lay there for a minute, entwined, entangled. Everything around him seemed to tilt and roll pleasantly even though they were lying still.

"You feeling it?" Barry lay slack-jawed, staring at something on the ceiling.

"I'm feeling something."

Ethan's head fell back. "Me too."

Barry nudged at him. "What'd you get me?"

"What?"

"What did you get me for Christmas?"

"It's not Christmas yet, and you nearly gave me a heart attack. Shit, this thing's going to burn my fingers."

Barry had slimmer, more delicate hands, so he took the roach from Ethan and sat up to smoke it. He took a long drag, holding it easily. His eyes were unfocused and getting red. A goofy smile manifested itself on his face and Ethan's heart twisted in his chest.

"I thought you'd gotten hurt or something. Where were you?"

"At the police station."

"You're shitting me." Ethan sat up so fast Barry slid toward the hardwood floor between the couch and their tacky coffee table. He landed on his ass with a thud. "Are you all right?"

Barry seemed to find falling on his ass hysterically funny. "I'm fine," he chortled. "Except now your head is way far away and it sounds really small. Like you're talking through a tube. Talking through a tooooooooooob—"

Ethan tried to pull him back up onto the couch without sitting up but it was like grabbing hold of egg white or something, he kept slipping back down. Ethan had to admit it was kind of funny.

"Look. Here, I'll just—"

"Here I come." Barry hoisted himself up and fell back down on Ethan with his legs astride Ethan's hips. He held the now tiny roach to Ethan's lips and said, "Last one. What kind of a person gives dope as a tip to a Christmas tree boy?"

"I was a good Christmas Tree boy."

Barry's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? Got any wood for me?"

"Always. But I'll beat you with it if you don't tell me why you were at the police station."

Barry's jaw went slack again and his eyes did something Ethan couldn't quite explain—but he liked it because he felt a corresponding surge in Barry's cock.

Ethan's eyebrows lifted. "What?"

"So." Barry ruined his disinterested expression by swallowing hard. "You'll beat me with your wood?"

"If you don't tell me why you were at the police station. Why are you avoiding the subject? Did someone hurt you?"

"No. It's nothing like that but it's not the most pleasant memory and I'd just rather forget it, all right? I'm sorry I scared you. I should have called, but I was angry because I thought... Can't we just forget it?"

"All right. Here." He pushed Barry away so he could stand. "Here's what you would have come home to, if you'd come home last night."

He took his lighter and lit some voitve candles he'd arranged on the coffee table. Then he went around the room to set the stage. Last night he hadn't been quite so wobbly. Things had stayed pretty still for him while he'd worked. Now he tried for the same effect but wasn't sure he'd get it.

"You went to a lot of trouble." Barry watched as Ethan went around behind their spindly tree and plugged something in. "Ah... you got lights."

"Yep," Ethan turned on the radio and finally went to the closet to pulled out Barry's gift. It was badly wrapped, and he'd crumpled the paper when he'd shoved it in the closet the night before. "This isn't the whole thing. I just—"

"Give it."

Barry tried to get to it but Ethan pulled it back. "Wait, I had some stuff I wanted to say, and—"

"Mine, gimme. Is it food? I hope it's brownies. Or potato chips. No, both."

Ethan took a big step back. "No."

Barry immediately sat back down.

"That was cool. Do you suppose you've ever done what I've told you to do before?"

"I don't think so." Even Barry was laughing, he was so surprised. "Must be the drugs. Mind control marajuana. The conspiracy theories are true."

"Your lips to God's ears, Barry."

"My present?"

Ethan gripped it in his hands. "The thing is, I just wanted to give you something that makes you feel the way you make me feel. Something that fills you and carries you along and wraps around you like warmth and breath and everything good."

"What?"

"So, yeah." Ethan lowered his gaze. "Thank you for spending this Christmas with me. Thank you for being my family. I love you."

"Last night I thought we didn't have that anymore."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to tell you when I'm lying to you from now on."

"You do that." Barry held out his hands. "Can I?"

"Sure," Ethan handed over his present and watched as Barry tore off the paper. Barry could unscramble the enigma code to get inside a package—he had a verifiable knack for stripping even a carefully wrapped and well-taped present with one yank.

When he saw his new stereo he just stared at it for a long time.

Minutes ticked by. Ethan grew worried. He looked down at his present and then up at Barry's face—trying to make sense of what he saw there.

Barry simply stared.

"Well?" Ethan asked, finally.

"You got me music." Barry covered his mouth with his hand as though he were overcome. Ethan thought maybe Barry understood what he had been too inarticulate to say.

"Yeah, because you make me feel so—"

At first Ethan thought maybe Barry was getting all emotional. It took a second for him to realize that Barry was trying not to laugh.

"What?"

"You got me a car stereo."

"Don't you like it? Don't tell me, is that what your parents got you? I knew I should have called them first."

"No." Barry wasn't even trying to control himself, he gave Ethan a shove and then gave up and fell over backward onto the floor, crushing Christmas paper under him as he rolled and giggled.

"What then?" Ethan was getting angry, and hungry and damn, pizza sounded really good right then.

Barry tried to say something but it was coming out all garbled through his nose, and Ethan thought if he ever smoked dope again it wouldn't be with Barry Moffit because he acted like a kindergartner who'd had too much red velvet cake.

Mmm... Cake.

"What?" This was so not going according to plan.

"Last night." Barry choked. "I went to track you down at the library—"

"And?" Ethan very nearly smacked him.

"And my car was stolen from the parking lot."

### About the Author

Z. A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four manages to find time for a writing career, she'll answer, "It's amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework."

Her published books include Crossing Borders, Epic award finalist St. Nacho's, Drawn Together, Physical Therapy, Blue Fire, Fugitive Color, and Jacob's Ladder from Loose Id, The Long Way Home, from Aspen Mountain Press, ePistols at Dawn from Samhain Publishing, and Notturno, Stirring Up Trouble, and Vigil from MLR Press.

She loves to hear from readers.

http://www.zamaxfield.com

http://zamaxfield.blogspot.com

zamaxfield@zamaxfield.com
