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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2019780-Bored
by beetle
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Gay/Lesbian · #2019780
Marco is bored.
Notes/Warnings: None.
Summary: Written for the prompt(s): Write about a time when you were forced to stay in because of a snow or ice storm. How did you feel? Did the power go out? How did you deal with it?



“I’m bored.”

“Ah. . . .”

“Seriously. I’m bored.”

“That’s nice, babe. . . .”


“Hmm? What?”

Marco leans on his elbows, face in his hands, and aims a pout across the kitchen table. “Sweetie . . . I’m bored,” he reiterates as Hal keeps typing, his dark blue eyes glued to the screen of his laptop.

“Hmm . . . that’s good, babe,” he says distractedly, his fingers clacking away at the keyboard. Unlike Marco, he’s a damnably fast, damnably accurate typist.

Offended, Marco huffs and groans, burying his face in his hands before running them up over his curly, dark hair. “Writers,” he mutters to himself before kicking Hal in the shin rather ungently. Hal yelps and looks up with more shock than anger.

“What was that for?” he demands, hitting the backspace key a few times. Marco smiles sweetly.

“That was to get your attention.”

“You had my attention . . . sorta,” Hal admits sheepishly, off Marco’s pointed look. Then he sighs and moves his legs to the sides of his chair and out of stroking range. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. What were you saying?”

Straightening up in his own chair, Marco heaves a dramatic sigh of his own. “I’m so bored.”

Hal blinks, then his eyebrows shoot up. “Bored? Seriously?”


“In a house with cable, internet, phones, and three separate video game systems, you’re bored?”


Hal rubs his left eyebrow with his right index finger. “How are you bored with all that stuff to do?”

“But I always do that stuff! I don’t wanna do it today!” Marco exclaimed, jumping up out of his chair to pace around the kitchen like a caged tiger. Hal watched him for a minute before asking tentatively.

“”What about the new sculpture? How’s it coming alo—”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Marco says moodily, pausing his pacing to glance at his partner. Hal holds up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, no talking about the new sculpture . . . so . . . what about outside?”

Marco snorts, pacing resumed, this time to the fridge. He opens it and surveys the contents disinterestedly. “What about outside?”

“Well,” Hal offers with a trace of reluctance. “You could always go for a walk. . . .”

“You mean for a slide?” Marco slams the refrigerator shut. “There’s nothing outside but feet of snow and inches of black ice!” Whaddaya—want me to break my leg?!”

“Of course not. But it sounds like you’ve got cabin fever. And there’s only one cure for that,” Hal says sagely. Marco stops pacing again behind Hal to wrap his arms around Hal’s shoulders.

“The neighborhood’s impossible right now, baby, and slippery. Too slippery for a walk,” he murmured against Hal’s nape, then left a ringing kiss on the closely buzzed skin. “Maybe,” he mused as Hal covered his chilly hands with typing-warmed ones. “Maybe . . . we could go out in the backyard, and. . . .”

“And?” Hal asked with a silent sigh at that we, and reached out to save his neglected work.

“And. . . .” Marco breathed, nuzzling Hal’s neck. “You and I could . . . make snow angels. And a snow man!”

Hal leaned back to look up into Marco’s dark eyes. “But you hate playing in snow.”

“I hate playing in dirty snow,” Marco corrected. “In the city, the snow’s always dirty. But this is our first winter in the ‘’burbs, with a yard of our own and clean snow! We should take advantage of that!”

Hal’s brow furrowed. “But . . . I have to get this article done today. . . .”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Today has a lot of hours left in it. I promise I’ll only keep you away for one of them. And when we’re finished making snow angels, I’ll make you hot cocoa.”

Hal’s furrowed brow lifted. “With cinnamon and whipped cream?”

Galore,” Marco promised, leaning down to peck Hal’s lips. “But first, we have to actually go outside and get thoroughly cold before we can warm up.”

Hal glanced at his mostly-finished article . . . then closed his laptop with panache and finality. “Alright! Let’s do it!” he said, smiling slowly.

Marco whooped and, hand in hand, they left the kitchen to get their coats and galoshes. A few minutes later, still holding hands, they stepped out onto the back porch, laughing and kissing.

And they weren’t bored for the rest of the day.

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