Merlot

It's cold out. Whether it's late December or early January I don't remember, but the Christmas tree is still up. Outside, in the cold night, a snowstorm begins to stir up. It softly pelts the window with little flecks of white, which disappear on contact with the glass.

I'm sitting in a white room, the carpeting, the walls, and the ceiling: everything's white, just like the snow. The furniture is also white, including the small sofa on which I'm sitting. Even my clothes are white. The only thing that isn't is the warm blaze in the fireplace, which is crackling various shades of red, yellow, and orange.

Before my sofa and I is a table with white legs and a glass top. Resting on the table is a single wineglass, filled halfway with a dark liquid. I lean forward and pick up the glass, pressing it to my lips. However, I do not drink it yet. Instead, I sit back and watch the snowfall.

Three sounds break the silence of the room: the crackling of the fire, the snow hitting the window, and the drizzle of a shower. The shower is muffled though, a door or so away. Tuning it out, I shift on the sofa and let my gaze travel from the window to the cheery fire. The flames continue dancing, captivating my eyes.

I hear a squeak and immediately look around for the source of the disturbance until I realize that it’s not coming from the room. I laugh silently at my own foolishness: it was just the shower being shut off. I close my eyes and lift the glass back up to my lips as I hear the click of a door opening. Within seconds, I feel water dripping onto my head and I smile.

"What're you drinking?" a deep voice asks. I open my eyes and see that he's leaning over me, his wet hair dripping water onto my face. I look into his dark, Irish-green eyes and feel a lump in my throat.

"M-merlot," I choke out. Then I finally take a sip of the dark liquid, reveling in it.

"Can I have a drink?" he asks, walking around the sofa and sitting beside me, his fluffy, dark-blue robe contrasting with the rest of the room.

"Sure," I say coyly, handing him the glass. I scoot away from him and lift my feet onto the sofa, putting them between us.

"Liar!" he laughs after taking a deep gulp. "This isn't merlot! It's plain-old grape juice!"

"Well," I say, a grin playing at the corners of my mouth, "would you really expect me to be drinking merlot?"

"I guess not," he replies, setting the glass back onto the table. The glass meeting glass resounds with a clinking sound. He laughs again and stretches before leaning over me, pecking my cheek.

"Surely you can do better than that!" I say with a laugh as I reach out and wrap my arms around his neck, his hair soaking them. With some effort, I pull myself up, pressing my mouth against his. His lips are smooth and moist. Then we pull away from each other and I run my left hand through my hair before situating myself to where I'm sitting cross-legged on the sofa.

"So, what're you doing?" he asks, running a hand up and down the inside of my left thigh, crumpling the fabric of my white slacks. "Is the cable out?"

"No, it’s fine," I respond, pushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "I was just enjoying the silence. Is there a crime against that?”

“I guess not, it’s just so unlike you, is all. Usually you’re listening to the radio or melting your brain with sitcoms, not that I’m complaining,” he says as he puts a hand on my shoulder. I lean in, nuzzle the side of his neck, and smell his hair. It reminds me of a doctor’s office. He has never held the best taste in shampoos.

He reaches around and starts to rub my shoulders. His fingers are electric and I groan with delight at every touch. I kiss his earlobe and wrap my arms around his neck again. I close my eyes and breathe into his ear, “This is all I’ve wanted, all I need.”

“I may just have to do something about that,” he says, flashing me a smile with his patented pearly-whites. I lay back and watch as he slowly crawls toward me, centimeter by centimeter.

“Yeah, you may,” I say with a throaty voice. He climbs over me until we’re face-to-face. He leans his head down and kisses me passionately, hungrily.

I can’t help it, though. I start laughing for no reason. I unintentionally knock him off me and he falls to the floor, his hairy legs sticking up in the air and his robe coming undone. All that does is make me laugh more.

“What is your problem?” he asks angrily as he pulls himself into a sitting position and wraps his robes back around me.

“It just dawned on me. It’s like we’re living the opening scene of an erotic movie or something,” I say to his bitter face. “Like some kid’s idea of romantic arousal.”

“Oh, shut up,” he says as he places one hand on the table and the other on the sofa. He pulls himself up and stands over me, my hunched frame still shaking with laughter.

“You don’t think it funny?” I say as I gasp for air, my laughter almost out of control. I double over in a laughing fit as he walks around the table and plops down beside me, positively brimming with annoyance.

“I thought it was romantic, not funny,” he says bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t pout,” I say as I attempt to straighten my posture and stifle my laughter. Barely concealing a grin, I scoot beside him and lay my head on his shoulder. I grab one of his arms and gently shake it. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Well, I don’t feel much like being played with,” he says with all seriousness. It takes all of my concentration to keep a serious face.

“That’s not what I hear.”

He uncrosses his arms and moves around until he’s half-lying on the sofa, his back in the nook between the armrest and the cushions. I move as well, laying the back of my head on his chest. I can’t feel his heartbeat through his terrycloth robe, but I do hear his breathing and the crackling of the fire.

He stiffly wraps his arms around me and holds me close. I close my eyes and sigh, bathing in his strength. I grip his forearms with my fingers and situate my body so that his knees aren’t digging into my back. Then I just breathe in his scent.

After a few minutes I open my eyes, look up at him with another grin, and with a laugh say, “You do know you’re not getting lucky tonight, right?”