"Are we there yet?"
Anthony glanced over at Sören and rolled his eyes, trying to restrain a grin. "You know you're a brat, right?"
"See, I do know something."
Anthony chuckled. He reached out and gave Sören a pat on the head, and then put his hand back on the wheel. "We're not far. Another half-hour, maybe."
Snúður meowed from his carrier in the backseat, as if to say "Not soon enough." Anthony and Sören gave a sympathetic laugh and Sören looked over his shoulder. "Poor baby," Sören said.
Google Maps said Rockwood, Maine was four hours and forty-eight minutes from Boston; with the traffic coming out of Boston on Black Friday it was now over six. Anthony had wanted to make it to the cabin on Moosehead Lake before sunset, and it looked like they might still make it, but they were going to have a shorter time to grab dinner on the way to the cabin if they wanted to watch the sunset at the cabin.
Anthony's cheeks burned as he thought about watching the sunset with Sören. That seemed like such a cheesy thing to do - straight out of a Lifetime romance movie. But indeed, Anthony was sentimental like that.
Yesterday for Thanksgiving, Anthony and Sören volunteered, serving Thanksgiving dinner at a homeless shelter. The usually shy Sören came out of his shell to make the residents and guests feel welcome and cared for, giving compliments, telling jokes, and trying to smile even though Anthony knew how sad Sören was, still stung by Craig's rejection. Sören's light in his personal darkness - like an aurora shimmering in the sky - was one of the things Anthony loved about him.
Which made Anthony sad for Sören's rejection... and a bit angry. He was angry at Craig for rejecting Sören - Anthony had been rejected himself enough times to know how much it hurt. He knew that attraction couldn't be forced, a genitalia preference was hard-wired and that was just life, at least from what Sören had told him, Craig had been polite about the rejection - some people had been much less polite to Sören and Anthony both. But Anthony still felt offended - he felt Sören deserved better than that.
He wanted to offer better. He'd been wanting to offer that for most of the six years they'd been friends. But as far as Anthony could tell, Sören went for cis guys - most queer trans guys did. Anthony didn't care what someone had downstairs so long as the owner of the equipment identified and presented as male, and Anthony thought Sören was so hot that even if he'd had a genitalia preference he wouldn't care. He didn't think those feelings were returned and Anthony didn't want to cause problems in their friendship - especially with them living together - so Anthony kept the feelings to himself; when he watched Sören fall for Craig, it hurt, but Anthony had genuinely wanted it to work out, wanting Sören's happiness even if it wasn't with him.
He felt helpless, wanting to comfort Sören, but not really knowing how, or at least not in a way that wouldn't make his feelings obvious and make everything awkward.
Sören's mischief of asking "are we there yet" for what felt like the hundredth time, faded - when Anthony glanced over again he saw Sören looking down with that sad expression on his face. Anthony fought the urge to pull over and give Sören a hug. But he didn't want Sören to keep everything bottled up, either - Sören hadn't been talking about the rejection much since it happened, and Anthony had known Sören long enough to recognize the tell that meant it really hurt. Anthony sighed. "You thinking about Craig again?"
Sören nodded, still looking down. His shoulders heaved as he let out a deep sigh of his own. "Jæja."
"Well shit, kiddo."
Sören got quiet again, and Anthony felt a twinge of guilt, feeling like he ought to say or do something. "His loss," Anthony blurted out - and meant it.
"Is it really?" Sören glared. "This happens to me over and over and over, every time I'm interested in a guy. Doesn't matter if it's cis guys or trans guys, it's all the same, they all just want guys with dicks. And I don't want to do a phalloplasty - it won't look or function the way I want it to and I'd be going to all that trouble and my odds wouldn't improve. I'm so fucking sick of it. The only people interested in me are women, and I tried dating women so I wouldn't be alone and I'm just... not attracted to women. You would think out of the dozens of guys I've approached since I had my top surgery, one of them, cis or trans, would say yes, but no. So fucking tired and... burnt out."
Tears misted Anthony's eyes - he felt for Sören, and that experience was a little too close to home; Anthony had only encountered one interested male since his transition, and the guy was a chaser and cheating on his wife to boot. Anthony had been celibate since Obama was in office. Since the pandemic started he hadn't even bothered trying to go on dating apps. He could hear the deep hurt and frustration in Sören's voice, mirroring his own, and he wished so much he could make it better.
And then Anthony realized he was tearing up for an entirely different reason. A frisson went down his spine, his hair standing on end as his eyebrows shot up. "Did you say you tried with both cis and trans guys?"
"Yeah?"
Anthony cocked his head to one side. "You know, I didn't know that. You never..." His voice trailed off, feeling like if he continued down this trail of thought he would end up accidentally revealing his feelings.
But Sören continued it for him. "I never mentioned it because trans men are men and I didn't feel like the distinction mattered when we talked about those guys?"
Anthony couldn't fault Sören's logic. "Right. I'm just... surprised so many of us reject each other because, like you just said, trans men are men. I get that some people have a genitalia preference but it seems really odd that it's so many of us."
Their eyes met, and Anthony quickly looked away, making himself focus on the road.
"So you... wouldn't reject a fellow trans guy just for having a pussy?" Sören asked.
"No."
There was another long silence. Anthony's heart beat faster as they turned off the exit, wishing he could cram that entire conversation back in its can, knowing it had crossed a line somewhere even though he hadn't come right out and said it.
They continued in silence as they checked in to the glamping resort. On their way out of Boston they'd bought groceries for the weekend which they were keeping on ice in a cooler in the trunk, and they put the groceries away, let Snúður out of his carrier, set up his litterbox, gave him fresh food and water, and headed back out to Anthony's Prius to drive to the diner where they'd be getting meals to go, so they wouldn't have to cook after the very long drive. They kept the bags of food wrapped in a blanket to help keep them warm on the trip back to the cabin.
The rustic log cabin Anthony had booked was right on the lakefront, with a gorgeous view of the snowy evergreens. After they ate their burgers and fries and slaw inside, they went out to sit on the deck and watch golden hour blaze into sunset, fiery orange and pink over the frozen lake. Anthony's breath caught... and again at Sören lit up in the colors of the sunset, looking like he was molting into a phoenix, like one of his paintings. When Sören turned to him and smiled, Anthony's heart melted.
"Thank you so much for bringing me here for my birthday," Sören said.
"You're welcome."
"It's perfect up here." Sören exhaled and his breath steamed on the air. "I feel like painting." Though Sören was a reviewer for Rolling Stone, his real passion was art - reviewing music paid the bills, though Sören sometimes sold his paintings and pottery for a decent sum. "I'm too tired to paint, though."
"Yeah. Besides, more to see tomorrow. I was thinking we could rent a snowmobile and I'll drive you around."
"I'd like that." Sören reached out and took Anthony's gloved hand in his.
Anthony's entire body tingled. He tried not to read too much into it - they were best friends, sometimes best friends hugged or held each other's hand - but his face was on fire again, and he held back his impulse to take Sören in his arms and kiss him.
They sat outside watching the colors change and the clouds shift, the sky becoming a deep blue with slivers of gold. When the last light faded, they sat in the twilight for a little while to watch the first star rise, then they went inside - while this area had low light pollution and was a good stargazing spot, it was bitterly cold tonight and they'd been out long enough to want to get warm.
Each cabin was about the size of a studio apartment and all open-plan. On the deck there was a grill and a picnic table; inside there was a kitchenette and a small living room area with a cream-colored plush couch and a large television, and a queen-sized bed with cream and grey bedding that faced the fireplace. Anthony got the fire going and sat next to Sören on the couch while they tried to decide what to watch. After a few minutes Anthony noticed Sören was squirming a little and the pit of his stomach rose, worried that he'd made some sort of faux pas earlier. When Sören winced like he was in pain, Anthony finally asked, bracing himself for more awkwardness and possible rejection. "What?"
"Oh, just... we were in the car for over six hours. Can we... rotate the TV to face the bed so I can stretch my legs?"
Anthony breathed a small sigh of relief - that was all it was - and then dread swallowed him once more. They were going to lay in that bed together. Now. He'd been trying to mentally prepare himself for there only being one bed in the cabin, the entire trip, but there was no amount of preparedness sufficient for the reality descending upon him right here, right now.
"Uh, yeah. Maybe we should get out of our street clothes first." Anthony resisted the impulse to smack himself in the mouth, realizing how that sounded.
But Sören seemed too tired to take it as anything but face value. "OK. I gotta piss, anyway." Sören strode across the cabin to the bathroom, stopping on the way to collect his duffel bag for a change of clothes.
After Sören changed into his pajamas, it was Anthony's turn. When he came out, the bed was turned down and the lights were low; Snúður had forgiven them for the trip in the cat carrier and was curled up in Sören's arms, kneading and purring so loud that Anthony could hear the cat from the bathroom door. Anthony couldn't help smiling at the adorable sight of Sören snuggling his kitty, looking innocent in a grey thermal shirt and red plaid pajama bottoms.
Anthony climbed in next to Sören and they continued to figure out what to watch. Many stations were airing Christmas movies now that Thanksgiving was over, and they weren't in the mood for that. Then they saw a Lord of the Rings marathon was just about to start, and Sören clapped and made an excited little squeak that made Anthony grin.
Partway into the first movie, Sören rolled onto his side, his back to Anthony. Snúður got down to use the catbox, and when he came back he stood at the edge of the bed and meowed.
"Ah shit, he probably chowed down his food already," Sören said.
"I'll feed him," Anthony said.
Even though there was a fire going in the fireplace, Anthony still felt a chill as he made his way into the kitchenette to open another can of food, and by the time he got back to the bed he was shivering.
"You can spoon me if you want, to get warm," Sören said.
Anthony's mouth went dry and his stomach fluttered. He's just offering as a friend, because you're cold, Anthony admonished himself, but even so, he didn't hesitate, moving closer until Sören's back was at his chest. Instinctively, his arms went around Sören, who made a little sigh of contentment and leaned against him.
Anthony could barely pay attention to the movie for the next few minutes, giddy at the feel of Sören curled up in his arms, savoring the weight and shape of him... the curve of Sören's ass nestled against his crotch. Anthony started getting hard and wet, face on fire, but he still made himself keep spooning and holding Sören. As flustered as he was, it was still deliciously cozy to curl up together like this, watching a movie with the fire flickering in the hearth, light snow falling outside, a full purring cat laying across their feet.
"This is nice," Sören mumbled.
"Yeah, it is," Anthony said, hearing the huskiness in his voice, hoping it wasn't obvious in just those few words. His arms tightened around Sören. "You're warm." Sören threw off heat like a living furnace, a pleasant warmth after the chill of the kitchenette.
Sören's arms draped over Anthony's arms, like giving him a hug.
After awhile Anthony was able to focus on the movie again... and then he felt himself fading, deeply relaxed by the snuggling. He heard Sören snoring softly, and he waited a few minutes, in case Sören was just dozing off. When Sören continued to snore, Anthony whispered, "Sören? You awake?" just to make sure, before he turned off the TV.
He got no response, so Anthony shut off the TV, put the remote down on the nightstand, and buried his face in the hollow of Sören's shoulder and neck, breathing him in, his body growing as heavy as his eyes.
Just as he was about to completely nod off, he heard Sören mumble, "Love you, Anthony," before another loud snore. Anthony smiled to himself, tried to say it back, and it just came out incoherent jibberish. For a brief instant Anthony wondered if he was already asleep and had dreamt hearing that, like some sort of wish fulfillment in sleep, and he pinched himself - he was still awake.
Not for long. In the peace and relief that washed over Anthony with Sören's confession, he rolled into sleep.
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