cracktrailer Dave, grey and flannel
Dave had a vague memory of snow. Crystal flakes falling from clouds that at any other time of the year would mean tornadoes and hail. Eight years old, on the still green grass of his lawn after football practice. Sweat cooled his t-shirt, made him shiver. Helmet dangled from two fingers and he stared up, amazed.
When his mom called him for dinner, the storm was gone as if it had never happened. Only the phantom kiss of melted ice on his face and eyelashes let him know it had been real.
The second time, Dave was seventeen. His hands full of soft flannel. His tongue moved over Chris' salt flavored skin. The back seat of his Mustang was cold. The open windows let the smoke from their joints fade out over the smell of beer and sex.
Dave felt Chris' teeth scrape the head of his cock. His hips rose and fell on slick leather. His fingers pulled the gray material until it tore as he came, hot and hard and fast between Chris' lips, down his throat as fat, thick, white flakes started falling. They drifted in and settled on Dave's face. Touched his tongue and wet his cheeks as he pulled Chris up. Kissed him. Chased his own tasted mixed with the unique spice of Chris.
The snow fell as they watched from the back seat. It floated in the dark and left tiny tears on the baby-fine hair just under Chris' eyes. The back window fogged, their breath silver vapors. Dave thought that he could see steam rise from the shadowed heat under Chris' arms.
He traced the curve of bicep, forearm, wrist. His fingers slid to hips, abdomen, the soft, curled trail of hair that led to something more magical and infinitely warmer.