Glacier Gold

by Crystel Greene

  I always imagined that when it happened, it would be me fucking him. I guess it’s simply because I’ve ever only been a top. With me being the textbook quarterback, everyone has always kind of expected me to do the fucking. And I never minded either. It’s nice to put your dick in someone’s ass, and it always seemed to be the natural choice for me.

  But suddenly now, with Andi, I’m not so sure anymore.

  Not so sure at all.

  Suddenly nothing is what it was.

  I can’t see him. It’s not the darkness, it’s my hair that fell into my face.

  With some difficulty, he wriggles an arm out of the bag and pushes the stray strands from my eyes.

  There’s his blue gaze again, and a flash of white that’s a row of perfect front teeth. He’s smiling at me in the dark. Then he’s kissing me again.

  HE PUTS my hand on him. He’s uncut; I can feel his foreskin move under my fingers. He feels silky and hot, and fuck, he’s big. Finding he’s actually way bigger than I am has a funny effect on me. I would have expected to feel jealous, or embarrassed and a little inferior. But all I can think of is what this power tool would feel like in my ass.

  Yes, I imagine him fucking me. I imagine him stretching me to the limit and thrusting into me and telling me shit like “You asked for this, now shut up and be good.”

  My hole gives a greedy twitch, and in a surge of heat, my dick comes back to life.

  Oh fuck.

  I’m a bottom for Andi Fankhauser.

  He squeezes my hand on his cock. I comply with his wordless demand and start pumping his shaft in a quick rhythm. Fucking into my grip, groaning, he puts his hand back on my ass and roughly pulls me closer. There’s no room between us for anything like technique. All I can do is try to keep him enclosed in my hand, but then that seems to be all he needs. Holding me in a death grip, furiously pushing and grinding against me, his cock throbbing in my hand, he rapidly approaches his climax.

  And then he’s shooting off. I can feel his load squirt through my fingers as he buries his face in the crook of my shoulder, stifling his shout of orgasm.

  It’s rough and primal and at the same time more intimate than anything I’ve ever done with a guy. The lack of space, the sweaty hotness of his body against mine inside the confines of the bag. The impossibility of doing anything about the profuse load of come that’s spreading between our stomachs. His flushed face right in front of me as he struggles to calm down.

  His heavy breathing mingles with mine in the icy inch of air between our faces, a little cloud of warmth, a shadow of silvery mist.

  In an animation, this little patch of sliver would have just one meaning: the merging of two lovers’ souls.

  WE LIE in tight embrace, breathing together, and as I lazily marvel at this new reality and think of all the things we might do next, I fall asleep.

  I WAKE up to the light of dawn spilling through crooked shutters.

  For a few moments, I’m disoriented. My left hand feels like a big, fat, prickling cushion. Something is lying on my shoulder, cutting off the circulation. I wriggle my arm to free it. There’s the sound of sleepy protest, a softly uttered expletive in a language I don’t understand.

  That’s German.

  That’s Andi, waking up.

  That’s Andi’s head on my shoulder, Andi’s hair tickling my nose, Andi’s wonderful, warm body snuggled up against mine.

  That’s Andi’s cock clinging to my hip, sticky with come.

  I never really thought past the sex when I planned on getting to sleep with Andi. But if I had foreseen we’d be spending the whole night together, like actually sleep-sleep together in the same bed, I guess I would have expected things to be awkward in the morning.

  But when our eyes meet in the pale light filtering in from outside, and I see his cautious smile, so full of suppressed happiness, so perfectly matching what I feel myself—yeah. Awkward isn’t even a category.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” he replies.

  It’s the first word he’s said to me since I joined him in this magical sleeping bag.

  He smooths my hair back from my face like he did last night. The gesture is so tender and possessive. No one has ever touched me like that. I have no name for what it does to me, but it makes my heart want to burst from my rib cage.

  “Good morning, gorgeous,” he whispers.

  I want to say it back, but I can’t speak. He kisses me slowly, languidly.

  “Looks like the storm has passed,” he says eventually. “They’ll be able to come and take us back to the village now.”

  That moment, my phone rings. I try to get hold of it without leaving the warmth of the sleeping bag. Without leaving Andi. When I’ve finally managed it, the call has gone to voicemail. It’s the Mountain Rescue Service.

  I give Andi the phone to call back. He talks to the guy from the rescue service in German for a couple of minutes, then ends the call, reaching over my head to put the phone back onto the nightstand.

  “They’ll be here by nine,” he says.

  He lets his hand tangle into my hair.

  “Nine,” I echo.

  “It’s seven thirty,” he says, looking me straight in the eye.

  Somehow it’s the most erotic line anyone has ever said to me. Because his meaning is clear.

  He’s up for another round.

  My body reacts with such enthusiasm it scares me. It’s not just my groin. My whole body tingles, and my heart has gone into overdrive. I want to think it’s because my blood is needed south, but the truth is, I can’t tell the sex from my feelings anymore.

  “How’s the ankle?” I ask hoarsely, trying to keep my perky cock trapped between my thighs and my heart inside my chest.

  “It feels like it’s twice the size of the other one. But it hardly hurts. You did a great job with that splint. You’re really good with your hands, do you know that? You could be a doctor.”

  “A doctor, huh. Thanks for thinking that, but I’m not exactly a top achiever, you know.” I know I’m rambling, but I’m too high and too confused to stop. “I suck at math. And I’m pretty bad at stuff like relative business valuation models too. I’m not really good at anything other than sports.”

  His expression has turned serious.

  “That’s not true, and you know it. What about that portrait you drew of me?”

  He gestures at my phone. Shit, he saw his portrait.

  “Oh God. You must think I’m this terrible stalker. I’m so sorry. You must have hated me for following you around like I did.”

  “I didn’t. You know I didn’t. It wasn’t like that.”

  He stops, and I ask, “What was it like, then? Andi? Please tell me.”

  There’s a lengthy pause. He chews on his lower lip.

  “When you kept trying to talk to me,” he says eventually, looking past me like he used to, “when you tried to flirt with me, and in the end even told me directly you wanted to sleep with me…. I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea how to deal with being just one step away from this.” We are lying flush against each other, and he wiggles a finger between our stomachs, then utters a small laugh. “Shit, I even pretended I was sick!”

  “You really did that because of me? God.”

  “I know it’s pathetic, but I was scared.”

  “But that’s horrible! I never wanted you to be scared of me!”

  He gives a scoff.

  “I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared of myself.”

  He’s fidgeting in the confines of the sleeping bag, making it rustle.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says, finally looking at me again. “You’ve got these amazing eyes….”

  “… eyes,” I echo, a little incredulous.

  “Yeah, that was what hit me about you first. Your eyes are so warm, and… I don’t know. Like you couldn’t even spell the word ‘malice.’”

  I’m not quite sure I’m fine with this, but he’s already going on, stroking my temp
le, the gesture full of emotion.

  “I knew from the start you were something else. God, I knew I was lost from the moment you walked up to my desk that first day. And then, when I saw you in the vapor bath, sprawled out at my feet, all glistening and gorgeous…. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I couldn’t think straight for the rest of the night. And then you started coming after me, and you wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to fall for you; I never wanted to fall for a guest. I tried everything to keep you out of my system. I wanted to hold on to my life as it was, but I just didn’t know how.”

  And now? I can’t help but wondering. What’s going to happen once the helicopter takes us away from here, back to Fitsch?

  But Andi isn’t thinking of the future right now, he’s still caught up in the past.

  A smile is playing across his lips as he goes on caressing my hair.

  “When you kept staring at me while I played with the band—it was just so hard not to lose track of what I was doing on the keyboard. You remember that one time when I went to the bathroom? I meant to run some cold water over my head, then ended up beating off in a stall instead. And then I found you waiting for me in the hallway. I thought you’d see everything in my face.”

  “I thought you hated me!”

  God, I felt so wretched that night. Just thinking about it still causes my voice to catch in my throat.

  He quickly kisses me, palming my cheek.

  “I never hated you, Justin. How could I?”

  “You certainly did when I was being a pain in the neck and fell down that crevasse.”

  “When you fell down that crevasse, that was the worst moment of my life! God, Justin, I thought you were gone!”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry for making you hurt your foot like you did and everything. I think I haven’t even thanked you. So, thank you for saving my life instead of just telling me I got what I deserved and leaving me with the glacier spirit.”

  “I guess it was worth the trouble in the end, you know,” he says, pulling softly at my hair. He’s teasing me. This is so new and so enchanting and it just might be that I’ll need to hear him make fun of me for the rest of my life. And to have him play with my hair. He does like it after all it would seem, even with the worst-case styling crisis I’ve got going on. I didn’t get to brush my hair, let alone wash it after I took the helmet off, and just now he’s winding one of my straggly strands around his finger and puts it to his nose like he’s trying to breathe me in.

  “So… you don’t mind I made that picture of you?”

  “I love that picture,” he murmurs into my hair. “What you do is a bit like impressionistic painting, isn’t it? You kind of made me look, like, lit up from within.”

  Because you are. Because you are blue and gold and light.

  God, will he forever make me feel like this, confused and euphoric and struggling for something normal to say?

  “That’s because I don’t work with lines,” I say, trying to pull myself together. “The trick is to think about light sources and hues and to find the exact shade that will bring out what you really see. And then I’ve used a special filter on this picture….”

  I break off. It would be just too bad if he found out I’m this boring nerd that can go on and on about shit like hues and shades and filters.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t want to hear about this.”

  “I do! I love digital art. It’s what I like best by way of, you know, adult stuff online? Drawings and animations.”

  Huh.

  “I sometimes make GIFs like that,” I say.

  “Really? You do animations too? Wow, that’s impressive! Oh man, I’d love to be an artist like you. You’ve got to show me everything you’ve done!”

  Okay, is this really happening? Is he telling me he’s interested in my drawing? I don’t usually show my stuff to my friends or tell real-life people about my art blog, because I don’t want to scare anyone away with the NSFW content. And I’ve never talked about my drawing with hookups either, because I didn’t want to scare them away with the nerdiness.

  What it boils down to is I’ve never been anything like proud of my work. And now Andi of all people tells me he likes what I do? Using words like “impressive”?

  “It’s just this bit of doodling I do—”

  “It’s not doodling,” he says forcefully, furrowing his brow and tightening his grip on my shoulder as if he means to discipline me. “You shouldn’t call it that.”

  “My mother does.”

  “Then you shouldn’t listen to what she says. No disrespect.”

  I chuckle, feeling guilty.

  “You know, this last week, sometimes I kind of liked the idea that there are all these mountains between my mom and me at the moment, and the ocean too. I mean, she’s my mom and everything, but…. Well, you know how mothers are.”

  “Not really, no. I’ve just got a grandmother. My mother died when I was six.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  Oh no. Of course, Rosi from the Gletschergeist told me his father was a single dad. And here I’ve been saying all these things about mountains and the ocean. I try to tell Andi how dumb I am, spluttering.

  He gives me a firm, quick kiss on the lips.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Really, it is. I want to talk to you about your art some more. Because I think it’s spectacular. No, just listen to me for a moment, Bennet.”

  He has put his index finger to my lips to keep me silent.

  “What you did with my picture? That’s a whole new, I don’t know, language of colors you’ve created there. And the eagle picture too. I’ve seen you work on it in the lounge.”

  “You have, haven’t you,” I say against his finger, satisfied at the thought that he did some stalking of his own there. Fuck, he totally sneaked up on me to get a look at my tablet, and he listened in on my conversations with Jay and Carl at dinner too!

  “The eagle is you too,” I say, squinting at him through my lashes.

  “Wow,” he says after a small beat, but not at all like he’s laughing at me. He’s still looking at me all seriously.

  “You don’t seem to realize it, but you are extremely talented, Justin. You could be a professional graphic artist. Or a board designer. You could be all kinds of things.”

  “My statistics professor thinks I’m a little dumb,” I say, because he does, and because it’s disconcerting to listen to Andi say these things.

  “You aren’t dumb. You are intelligent and passionate and seven kinds of wonderful.”

  “Don’t forget stellar at snowboarding,” I joke, trying to hide my blush and the debilitating happiness that keeps bubbling up inside me because of his crazy talking.

  “That too,” he says.

  “I never realized you didn’t just hurt your foot yesterday but took a blow to the head too.”

  He stays all earnest.

  “You think this is just because you are my first. Don’t you?”

  I don’t dare ask what he means by “this.”

  Suddenly I’m hyperaware again of his skin against mine. A shiver runs through me.

  “You are certainly good for a beginner,” I say, my voice failing me. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of talents yourself, Herr Fankhauser, looks like you aren’t just a top boarder but a natural in bed too—”

  He shuts me up with a kiss. A real one this time.

  It’s like someone closed an electric circuit. A jolt of heat zings through me, and he starts pushing against me, delving his tongue deep into my mouth. He moves his hands down my sides and rests them on the small of my back. My cock springs free from between my thighs. It has grown to maximum size in about a second.

  The feel of his hot length against mine. His hands on my ass now, strong and demanding. Yet again, I imagine him inside me, and the mere idea makes me spill over and smear a glob of precome onto his stomach.

  “Hey,” he says. And this time there’s nothing cautious to that word. Thi
s time it’s pure sex. Pure dominance.

  He grabs for my cock and starts working on it as if he had an owner’s right to it. He makes me come as if he had never done anything else in his life. Like a man with a purpose.

  And it turns out that’s exactly what he is. He lets me spurt into his fist, squeezing my orgasm out of me, urging me on with whispered words I don’t understand, stripping me of the last bits of sanity. Then he lets me recover for a bit, kissing me wherever he can reach in the confines of the bag and grinding his erection against my hip.

  I don’t suspect anything, nothing more than that he wants to come like this, so I reach between us to stroke him. That’s when he shoves my hand away to slip his own between my stomach and my softened cock, scooping up my come. When he reaches across my hip to part my cheeks and puts a slippery finger to my hole, it sends such a jolt of excitement through me that I let out a sob.

  I’ve had my hole touched before, but I’ve never been, like, especially keen on it. Like, it was okay, but what I really wanted was to put my dick in the other guy and get off.

  Andi’s free hand is on my cock, making it stir yet again, and he’s circling his finger around my hole.

  “Come on,” I gasp incoherently. I can’t bear the teasing. I want it in.

  “You sure? I don’t really know how….”

  “Come on,” I repeat. Last night it was me who needed to be told how to do something simple like lighting a match. Now it’s his turn. “Just do it, Fankhauser, put your finger in me. Quick, with feeling.”

  He gives a chortle.

  He’s laughing at my joke, and it’s the best sound ever. I want to make him laugh again, but the next moment I feel him level a finger at my entrance, then slip it up my hole. I can’t think anymore. I’ve got his long, strong finger in my ass, prodding me, searching for my prostate.

  Shivering all over, feeling my spent cock pulse painfully as it fills with blood again, I burrow my forehead into his shoulder and let the sounds just spill from my throat.

  Stopping grinding against me, he slides his hand out of my crack and up my back.