"This country is fucked. up," Justin said. He'd come to this decision when Lou told them they'd have to spend Christmas in Germany, because it was just too expensive to fly them back to America during the holidays. They'd have to wait until after the new year, he said. Lance had whined a little, because he wanted to spend Christmas at home, and not in some dirty, snowy country, where,

"Santa is this big scary guy who comes to kids' houses on Christmas Eve and if they're bad, he steals them away," Chris said.

Lance gaped at him and said, "That's not true."

"It is!" Chris insisted, and Justin thought that was so fucking cool, he didn't really care that they were going to be cooped up in a shitty hotel that looked straight out of the communist era, even though they were in Frankfurt.

But the more Chris told him and Lance about the customs, the more fucked up it got, like reading something called Strubelpeter to kids, even though they were about really awful things, like skinning chickens and describing it in great detail.

"Nah, man," Chris said, "it's not really that bad. It's just different -- they don't make everything all happy and shit, here."

"They don't have to make everything all evil-sounding, though," Justin said, in a small voice. And Chris laughed at him, and ruffled his hair. Justin yelped.

"It's not evil," Chris said.

"That's okay," Lance said. "If anyone wants me, I'm gonna be in my room having a good, American Christmas."

"You do that," Chris said, as Lance left hurriedly. "C'mon, you," he said, and tugged Justin up off the musty hotel bed. "I'll buy you some lebkuchen."

Justin looked up at him, eyes wide, looking distrustful. "What's that?"

"Gingerbread," Chris said.

As they left the hotel, Justin slid his hand into Chris' gloved one, and tilted his head up to brush his lips against Chris' ear. "There's gotta be more to it than that, right?" he asked. He scuffed at the snow, crushing it into the cobblestones of the sidewalk as he walked.

Chris smiled at him. "Yeah," he said. His breath was misting in short puffs; the air was frigid, but it wasn't really cold. "They do this big street festival thing, the day before, and everyone goes out and drinks beer and eats and stuff, and they sing Christmas carols. Everything's all lit up way into the night, and then everyone goes to mass."

"Oh," Justin said. "Can we go?"

"To mass?" Chris asked. "Nah, I don't think you'd like it."

Justin elbowed him sharply. "No, to the festival."

"Oh!" Chris said, as if it hadn't really occurred to him. "Oh yeah, sure. Here," he added, and stopped outside of a shop, with the word Bäckerei painted on the window. He gestured at the various pastries in the window, "They sell all this stuff there, except it's all, like, outrageously expensive, 'cause they know everyone will buy it anyway. You want anything?"

Justin inspected it, then shook his head. "Nah," he murmured. "Maybe later." He grasped Chris' hands and looked up at Chris. "Can we just keep walking?"

"Yeah," Chris said indulgently, and pressed a kiss to Justin's mouth. "We can do that." And snow started to fall on the darkened, German streets.

 

back | e-mail