Thaw In Winter

"Joe?" I've got lunch, buddy."

Joe stirred and stretched, opening his eyes. Mark melted at the soulful, sleepy expression he found there. His knees went weak as a slow smile curved Joe's sensual lips. "Hi," he rumbled and groaned as he sat up.

Mark couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to peel off his clothes, slide into bed with this hunk and make him groan with pleasure. His heart sped at the thought. To distract himself, he set up the folding table in front of the easy chair, placing his own meal on it. He then lowered the tray over Joe's lap

"Dig in." he invited and sat, taking a bite out his own sandwich.

The two men conversed quietly between bites. Chip, seated between the chair and the bed, was the recipient of several pieces of sandwich from both Mark and Joe. Mark brought forward an idea he conceived about retrieving Joe's tent and belongings tomorrow. He thought maybe if Joe had his things, especially his wallet, it might help him to remember. Joe agreed with the idea, only if the wind died down. It had steadily picked up over the last few hours, severely cutting visibility outside. He was adamant that Mark not risk himself. After the meal, Mark gathered the plates and seeing Joe settled, returned them to the kitchen.

Keeping an eye on the clock, he cleaned up the lunch remains and headed for the living room. Mark piled kindling in the fireplace and in no time had a cozy fire burning. In one small room off the living room, Mark had set up for himself an informal office. Desk, computer, drafting table, complete with the implements of his trade and bookshelves. Empty bookshelves. Stacked in a corner by his desk were several boxes of books that he'd brought with him. He unpacked them, placing them on the shelves with quiet satisfaction.

There were no architectural tomes or classics of literature here. These were for entertainment, pure and simple. He chose a book by one of his favorite authors, Carl Hiaasen, knowing he could expect a good laugh from his sharp wit and bizarre humor. Just what he needed to distract himself from thoughts of the man upstairs in his bed. Mark knew he was in for a long night.

As instructed by the doctor, Mark made the trip upstairs hour by hour, waking Joe, making sure he was aware of his surroundings and coherent. They shared a simple supper and watched a movie on the nineteen inch, tv/vcr/dvd combo Mark kept in his bedroom. After the movie, Mark once again attended to the kitchen cleanup. He threw Joe's clothes and some of his own in the washer, then returned to his book.

Past midnight and into the wee hours of the morning he was finding it more and more difficult to remain awake. At two a.m. he took a cool shower and changed into sweats. He purloined the alarm clock from the bedside stand in his room and set it, leaving it across the room from the sofa. He wanted to be sure he was forced to get up to turn it off, rather than fall into his usual habit of hitting the snooze button for an extra half hour.

Armed with fresh coffee and his book, he returned to the sofa to continue the battle to stay awake. For the next couple of hours he was fairly successful. He started when the alarm went off but was still awake. By five a.m. the battle was lost. Mark fell asleep as soon as he returned to the sofa, awakening only when the alarm went off.

By eight a.m. both men were bleary-eyed, grumpy and just plain bushed. At ten, Mark, feeling woozy and disoriented, began to laugh at some inconsequential thought. He collapsed on the bed. Caught up in Mark's infectious laughter, Joe was soon rolling on the bed with him. Both had tears running down their cheeks.

"Mark, this is nuts." Joe told him when he'd recovered his senses. "Except for feeling dead tired, I'm fine. I've been up a couple of times to use the bathroom and didn't feel the least bit dizzy." he reached out without thinking and brushed a strand of hair from Mark's forehead. "You look worn out, babe, go get some sleep."

Mark gazed sleepily at Joe, his eyes going wide and soft at Joe's caress and endearment. He watched myriad emotions cross Joe's face to be reflected in his eyes as he reached out again. The air seemed thick between them, movement slowing, possibilities waiting to be born. Mark saw the moment Joe's eyes settled on the ring. Joe's hand dropped, his eyes hooded as he murmured something about being tired.

Mark stirred and rose from the bed. He took a deep breath and swallowed the sudden tears that threatened, "Go to sleep Joe. I'll be in the bedroom down the hall if you need anything."

He dragged himself to the other bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment he'd seen something in Joe's eyes, something that almost frightened him, yet stirred anticipation, causing his heart to pound. He'd waited, barely breathing, for Joe's touch until that sudden wall had slammed down between them. Joe withdrew. Not only physically, but mentally as well, his face blank, his eyes shadowed.

Mark pulled the covers back and crawled into bed. Silent tears wet the pillow as he mourned the loss of something that could never be.

* * *

Had he been able to read Joe's thoughts he might have retained a shred of hope. The moment Joe touched Mark he was struck by the innocent, almost shy pleasure reflected in Mark's gaze. His groin tightened. Something stirred inside, a need to claim and protect that sweet innocence, to declare ownership and keep for himself the right to hold and touch the beautiful man before him. He longed to teach Mark all the things, he somehow instinctively knew, he'd never experienced.

He'd reached out again, intent on caressing that boyish, angelic face, until the gleam of gold caught his eye. The ring. The ring on his left hand. A symbol of promise and commitment to someone. A promise he couldn't remember to a person who remained lost in his memory. Joe had let his hand drop, feeling somehow defeated, lost. He saw the quick sting of hurt in Mark's eyes, quickly hidden, but it hurt him in turn, to cause unintentional pain.

After Mark's exit he lay back on his pillows, struggling to remember. He twisted the ring on his finger, hoping to find a face somewhere in his memory. Time and again Mark's face appeared in his thoughts. Joe shook his head in confusion. I don't understand this, he thought, if I've got a wife, why do I have these feelings for Mark? Could I possibly be bisexual or even gay? A sudden image flashed in his mind. He was bent over a dark haired man. His gaze traveled over a strong back, a tapered waist. His hands caressed the taut hard globes of the ass he penetrated and pounded against.

Joe sat up with a startled exclamation. His gut clenched with anxiety as a twinge of pain hit his heart. "Shit! Goddamn it, why can't I remember?" He struggled to bring forth other images. His mind remained blank. As an experiment he thought of women, naked, their shape, full breasts, small waists, curvy rounded hips, shapely thighs. His cock remained unimpressed. Changing gears he thought of men, again naked. Mark's image immediately filled his mind. The result unmistakable, immediate erection. Joe lay back with a groan. He realized he had to be gay or at least bi. But what of the ring? Could he have a husband waiting somewhere? Or, his face paled at the thought, God forbid he was a gay man trying to live life straight. His erection deflated. Was there a wife? Children?

After a time, disgruntled by memories that continued to elude him, Joe lay down and forced himself to relax. He turned on his side, staring blankly out the window at the blowing snow. The exhaustion of the nights enforced wakings soon overtook his thoughts and he drifted to sleep.

* * *

Mark woke as late afternoon sunshine fell across his closed lids. He stirred, yawning, and lay quiet as his senses gathered themselves. At his first move, Chip sat up from where he lay on the rug beside the bed. He watched his master patiently. Mark took a deep breath and sat up.

"Hey buddy, bet you gotta go outside. Huh?"

Chip gave a sharp bark, his feathery tail slicing the air with enthusiasm.

"Let's go check on Joe, then we'll go out."

Reaching the doorway to his bedroom, Mark was surprised to see the bed empty. He listened for a moment, then heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. Sounded like Joe was taking a shower.

He tapped on the door, "Joe, you ok?"

"Come in." Joe yelled over the sound of the shower spray.

Mark opened the door and stepped into a billow of steamy air. He could just make out the silhouette of Joe's sculpted body through the condensation on the frosted glass that surrounded the shower. He thought wistfully of what it would be like to strip off and join him under the hot spray.

"So you're ok?" Mark repeated.

"Yeah man, I feel great." was Joe's reply.

"Joe, I washed your clothes, I'll lay them out on the bed for you. I'm also leaving out a pair of sweats. Might be more comfortable to lay around in than your jeans."

"Hey thanks, bud, I appreciate it."

Mark left Joe to finish his shower and went downstairs with Chip hot on his heels. He opened the front door and laughed as the big dog threw himself off the porch and into a snow drift. Never one to stand on his dignity, Chip shuffled out of the drift, shook himself and made for the trees, intent on taking care of business.

Knowing Chip would be a while, he closed the door and headed for the kitchen, the thought of coffee upper-most in his mind. Mark was ready with his cup when the last few drops fell into the carafe of the coffee maker. Pouring a cup, he sighed with pleasure as the steam warmed his face while taking a small sip of the hot brew.

"Is that coffee I smell?"

Joe entered the kitchen, looking refreshed and alert. He wore his own tee shirt and the sweats Mark had left for him. He was barefoot, his hair damp and tousled. Mark was sure he'd never seen a more breathtaking sight in his life.

Setting his own cup down, he got a second cup out for Joe and handed it to him, "Help yourself bud, don't have cream but there's milk in the fridge, sugar on the table."

"Black for me, thanks." Joe replied and poured himself a cup. He took a sip and looked at Mark with a twinkle in his eye, "It's good."

"Thanks." Mark replied with a smile, "You hungry? I'm starving."

"Me too. I'm cooking by the way."

"Joe, you don't have to do that."

"It's the least I can do Mark, besides I like to cook." he paused for a moment, a look of delight on his face, "Hey, I do like to cook. I remember. I'm pretty damn good at it too."

Mark grinned and returned to the living room, opening the door for Chip. The big dog was waiting patiently. After greeting Mark, he went straight to the kitchen to see Joe. Mark walked in to find Joe rubbing Chip's ears, an action that always bestowed his good will on the person who lavished such attention on him. "You realize you've made a friend for life. You're really pushing the right buttons."

Joe looked up, a heated, mischievous gleam in his eyes, "Everyone has their hot spots." he replied, his voice husky and low.

Mark's breath caught in his lungs and he felt his face flush. His cock began to plump. He quickly marched to the refrigerator and opened the door, letting the cool air rush over him. Struggling to keep his voice steady he started to speak, then looked back at Joe. He flushed again when he found Joe's gaze glued to his ass.

"I thought we could have pork chops." he managed somewhat breathlessly.

Joe's eyes traveled up the length of Mark's body, coming to rest on his face, where he finally made eye contact. "Mmm, I'd like that." he agreed with a sultry murmur. He held Mark's startled gaze for what, to Mark, seemed an eternity, then seemed to collect himself. "I'll broil them. What have you got in the way of veggies?"

Mark swallowed and turned back to the refrigerator, opening the freezer door. "There's corn, baby carrots, or peas."

He started to turn back to Joe when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. Joe leaned forward, ostensibly to look into the freezer. "Do you like carrots....baby....carrots?"

Mark's eyes widened, he shivered when he felt Joe's breath, warm and misty, on the back of his neck. "Um yeah, I...I do." he stuttered. His stomach quivered with anticipation and dread as he waited for Joe's next move. He wanted to howl with disappointment as Joe stepped back and away.

Joe's teasing caused partial erections in both men. Ignoring the results of his tantalizing behavior, he asked about potatoes.

"Potatoes?" Mark asked almost incredulously, He couldn't believe it. Here he stood, well on his way to a blue steeler and Joe wanted to know if he had potatoes? Gathering his composure he answered, "Sure, they're in the mud room, second cabinet on the right."

With a bright smile, Joe blithely rubbed his hands together. "Ok, out of the kitchen man, the chef's going to work."

Mark shrugged and left, muttering to himself as he headed upstairs for a shower. He was unaware of Joe's troubled regard as he took himself to task for almost letting things get out of hand. It was just that Mark looked so cute and rumpled, having just gotten out of bed. Joe couldn't resist stirring him up.

After supper, Mark showed Joe around the rest of the cabin. They ended up in his office. Joe immediately went to Mark's drafting table, examining the blue prints he'd been working on. The plans were for a house. It was a rough draft accompanied by a list of notes detailing the rooms, their function and placement.

"Are you working on this for a client?" Joe asked, turning to catch Mark's gaze.

Mark had been watching Joe from the doorway, admiring his broad muscular shoulders, the long, lean line of his back, his firm taut ass outlined by the clinging fabric of his sweats as he bent over the table. Caught ogling, he blushed.

Joe quickly turned back to the blue prints, suppressing a smile. How cute is that blushing?, he thought to himself. If this sweet guy isn't gay and a virgin to boot, then that hit I took has scrambled my gaydar. He considered the thought for a moment realizing that gaydar was another memory returned. He knew then that soon, he'd remember. Everything. Considering his thoughts from earlier in the day, his stomach clenched.

Mark joined Joe at the draft table, determined to ignore the blush. He explained that the blue print was a house he was designing for himself. They began discussing the various aspects of the blue prints, the design, structural details, construction practices etc. They were both impressed at the knowledge each possessed and the common ground they found themselves on. Joe found himself able to pull more and more from his memory as they talked. He shared this detail with Mark.

Mark encouraged their discussion, carefully questioning, guiding the conversation to topics he knew that Joe, given his occupation, would be familiar with. The evening moved apace and finally, several hours later, both men began to yawn. The night before had taken a toll. Both looked forward to an undisturbed night of rest.

Together they climbed the stairs. Joe idly reviewed their conversation, grateful for Mark's help in stimulating his memory. They reached the doorway to Mark's room, Mark about to continue his trek down the hall. Totally relaxed, his mind already fogged by impending sleep, Joe stopped Mark with a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks." he leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on Mark's cheek. The affect was immediate, electric. Mark drew in a sharp breath. Joe withdrew slightly, enough to see the wide-eyed uncertainty that flitted across his face. Unable to resist, Joe leaned in again, his mouth softly brushing Mark's slightly parted lips. An almost imperceptible whimper answered the pressure of his lips. Joe again withdrew. Mark's eyes were closed. His expression a mix of pleasure, wonder and concern. Joe knew he had to end this.

He squeezed Mark's shoulder, causing him to open his eyes. Joe smiled, "I didn't mean to do that," he explained softly, "but I'm glad I did. Go to bed kid."

Mark took immediate offence. He stepped back, "I'm not a kid. You can't be that much older than I am."

"I'm 31," Joe admitted, "but I think we both know that age is not the real issue here."

Mark lost his belligerence, "Five years, and, yeah, I know. Goodnight Joe." He walked down the hall and disappeared into the guest room.

Joe retreated, his thoughts an equal mixture of regret and anger. Regret for what couldn't be and anger for not being able to remember what was.

* * *

The next day was torturous. Mark and Joe were both determined to act as though nothing had happened. They were by turns overly gregarious and just as suddenly silent. Being trapped together in the cabin did nothing to help the situation. The weather had not improved. It was still blustery, the wind making it impossible for Mark to think about making the trip to Joe's campsite for his things.

Mark retreated to his office, adding to his blue prints with desultory strokes. Joe retreated into a book.

Late in the afternoon, in desperation, Mark donned a snowsuit, telling Joe he wanted to check the generator. He spent the better part of two hours killing time by tinkering with the generator, sweeping the floor and denuding the ceiling of cobwebs with the broom. He returned to the cabin dusty and dirty.

Joe had started dinner. Spaghetti. With the preparations well in hand it smelled delicious. Mark's stomach pinched and rumbled in anticipation. Joe grinned then gave him the once over.

"Looks like you could use a shower buddy."

Mark agreed and headed upstairs. He found he was still wound fairly tight. He returned more relaxed than when he'd left. The combination of hot water and a satisfying jack off session, that starred Joe, had soothed his jangled nerves.

Unbeknownst to him, Joe had taken advantage of Mark's absence to sooth his own nerves. The sight of Mark, cheeks rosy from the cold, his hair dusty and tousled had revved Joe's engine. Beating off in the mud room, his imagination supplying him a picture of a nude, rampant Mark, he spewed his seed into a paper towel and buried the evidence in the trash. Sighing with relief, he quickly cleaned up, going back to finish dinner.

Mark poked his head in the doorway. "Anything I can do to help?"

Joe wanted to groan at the sight. Mark had come down smelling clean and fresh, his golden brown hair still damp from the shower. Joe wanted to tangle his fingers in the thick shiny mass and pull Mark into an endless kiss. Having berated himself for his earlier behavior, he settled for asking him to set the table.

"Thought we could just serve ourselves out of the pans, save on dishes. What do you think?"

Mark agreed and they did just that, sitting down to fresh salad with vinaigrette dressing, spaghetti with meat sauce, and warmed Italian bread. Mark opened a bottle of red wine which nicely complimented their meal.

The food was wonderful, the conversation on the other hand was a bit strained. Each man was conscious of his attraction to the other. Each was also hyper-aware of the gold band that mocked and admonished their desires. Sexual tension rode the air in waves.

Mark was relieved when the meal ended. His nerves were again wired tight. He helped Joe clean up the kitchen, offering an occasional comment. Joe did the same, but neither seemed able to keep the conversation running. They ended their chore in silence and moved to the living room. Joe picked up Mark's book, approving his choice and telling Mark how much he'd enjoyed it when he read it several months ago.

"Where were you when you read it?" Mark questioned quietly, fishing to see if Joe would remember.

"At home." Joe answered without hesitation. He looked up meeting Mark's eyes, his own widening in comprehension. "I read this book at home. It's a three bedroom ranch, with a living room, family room, kitchen and two baths." Joe's eyes glittered with excitement, "There's an attached two car garage and the full basement is finished. I use half of it as a work shop and half as a rec room. There's a pool table and exercise equipment."