Work Text:
December 18th, 1974.
“And the finishing touch.” To Marcus’s complete horror Frankie put the stool in the kitchen doorway and climbed on it. “The mistletoe!”
“Not again, Frankie!” Tim’s voice called from the main room. “Last year I kissed about twenty people, including you. I think James broke up with me because of your mistletoe.”
“James broke up with you because he was a prick and didn’t deserve you, honey.” Frankie called back, then put his attention on Marcus. “What is this sour face?”
“Do I really have to watch you making out with other people under this mistletoe all night?”
“It’s a tradition! Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Marcus Gaines,” Frankie said, fake-exasperated. “Not after I had to watch you cheating on me all year.”
Deep confusion ran through his body. It was true, Marcus spent a night or two in other men’s beds, but it didn’t mean anything. Or, more like it meant that he was still in the game. Somehow, it made him feel less afraid. But how…
“Oh, yeah, I know,” Frankie looked furious now. “I really didn’t want to bring that up, but you didn’t leave me a choice.”
“You think that was cheating?” Marcus asked. They never talked about exclusivity in their relationship and ever since he moved to San Francisco to be close to Frankie, he didn't even think Frankie would mind. That's how it’s always been, back in Washington.
“When you came here and begged me to take you back, I thought it would finally be different.” Frankie examined the mistletoe, satisfied with its position and jumped on the floor, landing gracefully in front of Marcus.
Marcus didn’t beg him, although he might have said “please” somewhere along the lines. Maybe a few times. Arguing wasn’t a great idea right now, especially with Tim in the next room.
“I won't do it again,” Marcus said softly instead, “if it's important to you.”
“It is.” Frankie smoothed out the collar of his shirt. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Marcus Gaines, and I don't want to share you with anyone.”
“Is it a proposal?” Marcus put Frankie's hands on his shoulders and embraced him by the waist. They swayed a little, too close to each other to be actually dancing. The idea was ridiculous, but his heartbeat still jumped a little when his eyes found Frankie’s.
“If Harvey Milk will run for supervisor again next year, who knows? Maybe one day it will be possible.”
“Hmm,” Marcus smiled and kissed Frankie's nose. “I am the writer here but I've always been envious of your imagination.”
Frankie pressed even closer, burying his face into Marcus’s neck. “You’ll see,” he whispered.