Baby, It's Cold Outside - By Deejae

Twenty-three degrees. Twenty-three degrees and dropping. It is snowing outside and the thick cloak of white resembles a snowfall you recall from when you were young, making you sigh as you reminisce. You are dressed in jeans, legwarmers, an uncomfortable turtleneck, and gloves. You’re still cold. It’s time for you to leave, but he won’t let you.

 

“Joseph, I have to! Stop being a child.” You scold him, your hand on your hip and your brow creased. He mirrors you with a smile playing on his lips; you have to roll your eyes at his immaturity.

 

I really can't stay (Baby, it's cold outside)
I've got to go 'way (Baby, it's cold outside)
The evening has been (I've been hopin' that you'd drop in)
So very nice (I'll hold your hand, they're just like ice)

 

“You don’t have to leave.” His voice is dry, and he takes a sip of hot cocoa from the mug in his hands.

 

“Where did you hide them?” you ask, your voice firm and unwavering. He smiles, a faint dimple showing on the left side of his chin. He shakes his head and sets down the mug, running down the hall from you. You tremble from the cold breeze coming in from the window, making you wonder why on Earth it’ seven open.

 

“I’m not telling!” he answers over his shoulder, his voice echoing from his empty room. You know the rest of his family is due any minute, and that causes you to worry. The thick socks on your feet muffle any loud noise from erupting as you quickly run down the hall and into his room. You roll your eyes, not the least bit amused, when you see him lying on his bed wearing your jacket, scarf, and plaid aviator hat.

 

Well, the hot pink hat makes you smile just a little bit.

 

“Stay with me,” he says. His voice is no longer playful, but serious. His eyes are pleading, and his arms are outstretched. You accept the invitation and fall onto his bed with his arms wound securely around your waist.

 

It is moments much like this one that make you wonder how lucky, how fortunate, you are that he’s yours, all yours. You’re not entirely sure how it is that your best friend, as clichéd of a story that it is, became so much more. Joseph is more than that, and he knows it. Unfortunately, he uses that knowledge to his advantage.

 

“What will my parents think happened to me?” you say, succumbing to the calming sound of his bravado. “They know it doesn’t take this long to drive over here and pick up a punch bowl.” You shut your eyes, his breath softly tickling your neck. You honestly believe that no matter how cold it is outside, when you’re in his arms you’re warm enough; not even ice can break the warmth you feel as you’re tucked in his arms.

 

“Tell them you’re with me.”

 

“Right,” you laugh. “And what will they think then?”

 

“Your wonderful, caring boyfriend didn’t want you to catch pneumonia.” You can hear the pompous beam in his voice.

 

I oughta say no, no, no sir (You mind if I move in closer)
At least I'm gonna say that I tried (And what's the sense in hurting my pride)
I really can't stay (Oh baby, don't hold out)
Oh, but it's cold outside

 

You want to say no, but you can’t find the words to do it. Your mouth opens to speak, but the words come to an abrupt halt when his lips touch yours. Electricity sparks when the tender skin of your lips meets his and it feels just like you’re falling head over heels once again.

 

“I really can’t stay,” you mumble, your limbs failing you as you try to stand. You feel defeated, but the nerves that set on fire when his hand touches the skin of your hip immediately overpower every other thought in your mind.

 

“Stay.” A few swift movements leave you beneath him, his palms resting on either side of you. His curls are still damp from the shower he took just minute sago. You regret it now, wearing so many layers. You had changed while he was in the shower, trying to be as sly as possible.

 

He is smarter than you, though. You know him well. He had tucked away your other articles of clothing before he slipped into the tub, knowing full well that you would try to escape him before he came out from the bathroom.

 

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” he sings, kissing your jaw, and then your cheek, and then the very tip of your nose. His hands grab yours and remove the thick gloves covering them.

 

“Fine,” you whisper. “Just a few minutes.”

 

He smiles against your skin as your hands run along every dent in his bicep, your nails scratching softly. You see him bite his lip as he attempts to rid you of your turtleneck.

 

“Good.” You sigh when the itchy piece of clothing falls to the floor. “That damned thing is so uncomfortable.”

 

The laugh that falls from his mouth sounds angelic, igniting your every nerve. Every sound he makes is beautiful, as is every move and every touch and every physical feature.

 

He’s perfect. He’s yours.

 

“It’s so warm in here,” you say, noticing the lack of a cool breeze hitting your skin. “How—”

 

“Heater,” Joseph interjects, his voice accompanied by the sound of your pants zipper.

 

“Oh.” You shake your head at the lack of a better response.

 

“Gorgeous,” he breathes. “Every part of you is just that, beautiful.” His eyes scan your body and you touch the pads of your fingers to his chin, lifting his face to yours.

 

“I love you, Snowbunny.” Normally, it would be just a silly interjection, this use of a tacky nickname. But he understands, just like only he can.

 

“I love you, too, Lovebug.” It’s impossible to feel this way, you think. To feel so absolutely in love, your fingers absentmindedly but delicately brushing curls away from his face. Your touch is soft, the fear overwhelming you – fear that this is just a dream, a fragile and benign figment of your exotic imagination.

 

But he’s real. He’s not away, not off on tour. He’s here, in your arms holding you and you holding him. And nothing seems more perfect. Your imagination can’t even come close to conjuring up something even more wonderful.

 

His nose tickles you right below your ear and he kisses the jutting part of your collar bone. His lips are soft; they’re warm and you can feel that they are moist. He mumbles something against your skin and your eyes, which you’ve just realized were closed, open up to look at him.

 

“What did you say?” you ask quietly, not wanting to break the comfortable silence.

 

“Let me… let me touch you. I want to make love to you. Please, please… let me.”

 

I simply must go (It's cold outside)
The answer is no (Baby, it's cold outside)
The welcome has been (So lucky that you dropped in)
So nice and warm (Look out the window at that storm)

 

His pleas are innocent and kind, his voice just as quiet as his breaths. You can’t help but give in.

 

“I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

 

You rest your head onto his pillow, letting him take the lead. His nimble fingers dance at your torso as if the pads of them are trying to memorize your every curve, your every feature. He kisses everywhere he can reach without straining himself: your neck, your temple, your forehead, your chin. He purposefully ignores your lips.

 

He lifts you slightly, pulling your jeans off of you gently. You smile at his diligence, unable to remember ever seeing him more vulnerable than in this moment. It’s not the first time you’ve been intimate, but there haven’t been many. He’s always away. And when he’s not, he’s always busy. It’s not his choice though, he assures you. He is shaking now, and it is obvious that he is trying to control his erratic breathing.

 

It’s comforting that he’s as nervous as you.

 

“Joseph, don’t worry.” Your voice is evidence of your nerves, and you laugh at yourself. “Let me help you.”

 

Your hands rest over his and calm him, your feet kicking until you hear a loud thump as your belt hits the floor on top of the denim heap. Your hands grasp his wrists and pull him close, wrapping his arms around you so that he can unclasp your bra. When he does, you can feel the blush on your cheeks when his eyes meet your breasts.

 

“Still so beautiful,” he says, his words followed by an anxious swallow and a smile.

 

“Your turn,” you tell him, realizing he is still fully clothed. “Your shirt.” You were too distracted earlier to know when he had shed the jacket, hat, and scarf.

 

He kneels on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours for even a second. His skin is damp and you don’t know whether it’s the perspiration and the anxiety, or the shower and his tendency to not dry completely. You laugh, your index finger tracing down the line that runs from the middle of his chest and down, the indentation finally disappearing into his plaid pajama pants.

 

“Fine,” he groans, watching you lick your lips as you eye him.

 

“I can’t help it,” you say in defense. “I’m sorry.”

 

He smiles at you when the fabric hits the floor, shivering when he’s left in only boxers.

 

“Spongebob?”

 

“Naturally,” he replies, grinning. Another reason you love him: he’s just the right amount of fun without being frustrating.

 

“Well, take them off,” you demand eagerly, laughing almost. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.” You watch as his fingers tug on the elastic, his cheeks burning crimson. Following his lead, you lift your hips and push  the elastic of your own panties down past your hips, stringing your legs through and kicking the lace fabric down to the floor.

 

Once he’s completely nude, his length throbbing and eager, he looks at you and smiles – a beautiful, beautiful smile.

 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you not to absolutely lose control right then and there.

 

“Tell me, angel, what is it that you want?” He awkwardly shifts his weight to his knees, situating himself between your legs. His breath is hot against your lips and you smell the peppermint. His eyes bore into yours and in the silence, you can hear the sound of his every insecurity, every barrier holding back, slipping away.

 

He belongs to you and you know that anything you desire, absolutely anything, is yours. But you want only one thing.

 

“You.” He kisses you, then. Soft, but firm. His lips are full; slippery. You smile as you feel your own lips moving against his, holding him close to you. Your back arches when his length presses into you, then finally all the way in until he’s buried completely inside and unable to move.

 

“Mm, wow,” he whispers, feeling the overwhelming wetness let him slip in and out so easily. Like a key fitting into a lock, he fits perfectly. You feel complete, like a puzzle missing only one piece – and he has filled the void. The skin of his hips rubs against your inner thighs creating some sort of friction, a type of electricity that ignites the both of you.

 

It’s never been the same experience when you’re with him. Each time is different, somehow.

 

“Joseph, oh,” you moan, over and over again. His name falls from your lips like the leaves on an autumn afternoon; like the snow outside the window. You search for something to hold, unable to think clearly, to process your own thoughts. The world is spinning and you can’t control it, but you don’t want to. Your nerves are completely drowned in pleasure, his cock hitting every spot without you saying where.

 

“Come on, Snow Angel, tell me… tell me what it’s like. Tell me if it’s good…”

 

“It’s good, Joseph. Ohh, it’s indescribable. You feel amazing. J-Just like that… yeah…” You feel the sheets beneath your head twisting and you turn your head, watching as his knuckles turn white – he is clenching the sheet between his fingers. It’s like you can hear his nails ripping the fabric. He’s holding it in.

 

Your hands circle his torso, your fingers tracing an invisible line up his back. Your fingers squeeze so, so gently – his ass, the indentation on his lower back, the curve of his spine. Your hands rest on the part where his shoulder blades meet. You flinch as you feel that familiar feeling starting in your toes and your muscles tighten just slightly. You kiss him, pouring every ounce of absolute pleasure into it. Your tongue touches his and he presses forward even more, you suctioning his tongue into your mouth.

 

He groans at this and his legs shift beneath him.

 

“Joseph, baby, come for me. Let me feel you first, let me—”

 

“No, I-I can’t. Let me do this for you.”

 

“Joseph, come on.” He slides in, moving further into you. He hits a different, new spot, and you growl. So animalistic, so raw – it makes his ears perk and he can’t hold it in any longer. With a groan of your name, along with every other moniker he’s given you in the past, he comes to his end. He spills everything he can offer into you, ropes upon ropes of it.

 

The pulsation of his cock sends you to your end, too. You writhe underneath him, both of you still connected as one. His hands grab yours and your fingers intertwine. He kisses you everywhere – your neck, your collarbones, your cheek, your eyelids, your temple.

 

You can feel him more than ever. Physically, mentally – you can feel him.

 

He slips away from you, your hands still holding on. He pulls you close to him, both of you still breathing raggedly. His heart beats against your ear as your rest your head on his chest. He kisses your hair and inhales, smelling the scent from your shampoo.

 

“Joseph,” you sigh, kissing his breastbone. “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph… my wonderful, amazing, talented—I just love you so much. I don’t think that’s enough to show just what I feel for you, but I’m so, so in love with you.”

 

He strains his neck, tilting his head to kiss your eyelid, then your temple. His lips are still warm.

 

“I love you, too. I’m so in love with you.” He says your name and his voice is the sweetest of all the angels. “I leave for tour and always wonder what’s written in the future for us, but…” He kisses the top of your head again. “… I see something that reminds me of you, and I fall head over heels all over again.”

 

You let the silence linger for a second, listening to him breathe.

 

“Oh, I really shouldn’t have stayed this long,” you say, looking at the alarm clock over his shoulder.

 

“But, baby, it’s cold outside.”

 

“I know, but… I really do have to leave. This was… this was phenomenal, Joe, really. I don’t regret staying, not one bit.”

 

He smiles and whispers, “Get dressed so I can walk you to your car.”

 

You groan, but comply. You r body trembles and aches, wanting to hold him for just a longer while. But, you can’t. And that hurts more than the cold.

 

+++

 

The walk to your car is longer, both of you taking small strides down the road. The snowfall is heavier than earlier and you can barely see through the blanket of white that has fallen over the street. Unlocking your car, you throw your purse onto the passenger’s seat and turn to him.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” he says, returning the embrace. Yet again, the cold just gets warmer when you touch him.

 

He waits outside your car, watching while you put the key into the ignition. The engine scratches a little and you smile uncomfortably. Letting it rest for a few second, you make a second attempt. Getting the same result, you groan.

 

“What?” he questions once you exit the car and fold your arms, staring at the car and kicking the closest tire.

 

“It won’t start!” you groan. “I think the engine’s frozen. Damn, I need to call my par—”

 

“Done.” You look at him quizzically, your confusion growing as you see the grin on his face.

 

“What?”

 

“I called them before I got into the shower.”

 

I really can't stay (Get over that hold out)

 

“What did you tell them?” Your hands automatically fly to your hips as you interrogate him. From the laughter that ensues, it is obvious that the expression on your face is amusing to him.

 

“I told them that it would be safest if you stayed here for a little while, if not for the rest of the night, because the roads are dangerous. At least now it’s not a lie.” You want to laugh until you remember that the rest of his family is still gone.

 

“But what about Nick and Kevin? Your parents? Frankie? Elvis?”

 

“Elvis? Really?” His voice is accusing, but you hear the smile.

 

“Well, you know what I mean.” He walks towards you, pulling your body close to his and instantly warming you with an embrace.

 

“They’re gone for at least a day and a half. Apparently, Josh and Angela needed some assistance at their house before coming by for Christmas.”

 

“So let me get this straight: you planned this?”

 

“Pretty damn good, yeah?”

 

You think about your answer first before pressing your finger into his side, making him flinch and laugh.

 

“Amazing. Thoughtful.” Your wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him. “Wonderful. Beautiful. Yes, pretty damn good, Joseph.”

 

He takes your hand in his and walks with you back to the house. You are quiet, walking together in complete silence. No words have to be spoken to understand the feelings that are obviously there. The melting snow in his damp curls reminds you of powdered sugar, and makes you think of hot chocolate and a warm fireplace. You look back and your footprints in the snow are quickly fading, but it's okay. The memories still linger, and you are beyond content.

 

Oh, but it’s cold outside

 

+++