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“Oh, c’mon! Where the fuck are they?”
Dutch patted his pockets for the umpteenth time and growled in frustration when he once again came up empty. He just knew he’d packed his gloves. He’d made a point of sticking them in the pockets of his ski jacket before they’d left for Big Bear. But no matter how many times he checked, they simply weren’t there.
“Dutch, you coming or what?” Johnny yelled from outside the cabin, his voice high and whiny. Dutch could practically hear his teeth chattering. “I’m freezing my nuts off out here!”
“Serves you right!” Dutch shouted back, rolling his eyes as he searched the pockets of his duffle bag one last time. He took his sweet goddamn time about it, too. He’d warned Johnny that he needed to pack a warmer coat, but did the big doofus listen? Nooo. Of course not.
“I’m a real man, I can take the cold. Parkas are for pussies,” Dutch muttered mockingly under his breath, as he turned his bag upside down in search of his missing gloves. Instead, he found sweaters, jeans, wool socks, his scarf, a box of condoms, lube. A pack of Marlboro Reds, another tube of lube…
The new cuffs Santa had left in Johnny’s stocking, soft and shearling lined. A very nice gift for a very naughty boy. Dutch grinned as he fingered the supple black leather, remembering how good they’d looked around Johnny’s wrists while they broke them in on Christmas Eve.
“DUTCH! HURRY THE FUCK UP!”
Dutch flopped down on the floor in a huff, surrounded by the strewn contents of his bag. He’d found everything but his damn gloves. He just sat there for a moment, racking his brain trying to figure out what could’ve happened to them, until the sound of laughter and the loud, booming barks of his mom’s dogs snapped him out of his sulk.
Oh, well. His fingers might freeze, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing Johnny would be even colder. Dumbass hadn’t even brought a hat. With a resigned sigh, Dutch wrapped the scarf around his neck, grabbed his knit cap, and headed for the door.
He braced himself for it, but the blast of cold air that hit him the second he threw it open still took his breath away. Fresh snowflakes were falling and Dutch immediately started to shiver at the sight of them. He had to force himself to step out onto the cabin’s small porch instead of retreating back to the warmth of the fireside. Still grumbling to himself, he yanked his hat down over his ears and pulled the door shut behind him. The icy cold doorknob made his bare hands ache.
“Babe, have you seen my gloves? I can’t find them anywhere and I fuckin’ know I…”
Dutch’s next words died on his already frozen lips. Johnny sat huddled on the front porch steps, watching the dogs through the viewfinder of the new camcorder Dutch’s mom had given them for Christmas. The little red record light was on. He laughed as he filmed them playing, seemingly oblivious to the snow dusting his hair and the shoulders of his black motorcycle jacket.
Neither of the dogs paid him any mind as he stepped out into the cold, either. The two huge Newfoundlands loved the snow. They were built for cold weather, with their bulk and their thick double coats, but they never got to experience it, back home in the Valley. His mom usually brought them up north a few times each winter, just to give them a chance to ‘experience their natural habitat.’ But this year she was busy recording a new album, so when he’d asked if he and Johnny could use the cabin for a few weeks, she’d said yes, on the condition that they brought the dogs with them.
Sure enough, Moonie was gamboling around the fenced-in clearing, her black coat caked in snow as she rolled around in it and jumped in and out of snowbanks. But Bonzo…
Bonzo was standing stock-still in the middle of the yard as his sister ran circles around him. He heard Johnny snicker as the dog awkwardly raised one enormous paw, then the other, his movements stiff and robotic. Dutch squinted down at Bonzo’s feet to see what was wrong with them, and that’s when he saw…
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Dutch exploded, having finally realized where his gloves had got off to. “Seriously, Johnny? I’ve been looking for those for the last ten minutes! Take them off the dog!”
“Oh, c’mon, Dutch!” Johnny failed to stifle another giggle as he watched poor Bonzo waddle awkwardly through the snow, Dutch’s gloves flopping wetly on his front paws. “I mean, just look at him! You have to admit it’s pretty funny…”
“Johnny…” Dutch growled, tucking his hands under his armpits to try and keep them warm.
“What?! I just didn’t want him to get cold feet,” Johnny said, pulling the camera away from his face so he could bat his big, blue eyes innocently up at Dutch.
“Stop torturing the poor dog. Gloves. Now,” Dutch demanded, stamping his feet on the creaky, snow-dusted boards.
“Ugh, fine.” Johnny rolled his eyes but complied, turning the camcorder off before setting it aside. “Okay, Bonz, I’ll get them off. C’mere, fuzzball.”
Bonzo slowly trotted over, each step more ungainly than the last. While Johnny wasn’t looking, Dutch grabbed the camera and hit record. He had to stifle a laugh of his own when the dog obediently stopped in front of Johnny and cocked his head to the side, giving him a betrayed look and a truly pathetic whine.
“Aww, I’m sorry, buddy,” Johnny apologized, all faux sincerity, his eyes still twinkling with mischief. He ruffled Bonzo’s floppy ears, hugged his neck, then reached down to pull the ill-filling gloves off his feet. “But Dutch needs these more than you do.”
Bonzo gave a deep, booming bark of gratitude, before rearing up and tackling Johnny off the step into the snow. Dutch howled with laughter as the dog planted his newly freed paws on Johnny’s shoulders and gave his face a wet, slobbery lick.
“UGGGH!” Johnny cried, reaching up to try and wipe his face with his own gloves. “Dammit Bonz, cut it out! Let me up, it’s fucking cold!”
“Serves you right, dickhead,” Dutch chuckled as Bonzo gave another happy bark and bounded off to chase a yapping Moonie across the yard. Still filming, he took the dog’s place, kneeling down in the snow over Johnny, straddling his hips to keep him pinned. “That’s what you get for stealing my gloves.”
“Oh, you mean these gloves?” Johnny asked with a teasing grin, holding them up, then yanking them away when Dutch tried to make a one handed grab. “Ah, too slow! You must not want ‘em that bad. C’mon, Dutch you’ll have to try harder than thaaaAAAAahh – HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Johnny shrieked, as Dutch shoved a handful of snow down the neck of his sweater. “Asshole! Get off me!!”
“Not a chance!” Dutch cackled as Johnny tried to buck him off. He gripped his waist with his knees, still filming as Johnny twisted beneath him. He planted his other hand on Johnny’s chest, holding him down and squeezing his left pec to rub the melting snow into his skin. Johnny gasped and whined, trying to both squirm away from the touch and get more of it. Even beneath the layers of t-shirts and his sweater, Dutch could feel the nipple pebbling beneath his thumb.
“You don’t fight fair,” Johnny pouted, collapsing back in the snow, somehow panting and shivering at the same time. With his damp, golden hair haloed around his head, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes bright, he looked like the world’s most debauched snow angel. “What happened to showing mercy, huh?”
“Eh, old habits.” Dutch shrugged with a crooked grin, finally setting the camera down on one of the porch steps so he could lean down for a kiss.
In retrospect, he should’ve known Johnny was up to something when he went completely boneless beneath him, suspiciously still as their lips met. One second, he was pliant and sweet, his lips cold but his tongue hot as it slid along the seam of Dutch’s mouth, soft and wet and thoroughly distracting.
And the next second, he was shoving two handfuls of snow down the back of Dutch’s jeans.
“SONOFA – “ Dutch clambered off of Johnny with a strangled cry. Johnny howled with laughter as he scrambled to his feet and immediately realized he’d made a mistake, since now he had ice sliding down his legs and into his boots.
“Payback’s a bitch, innit?” Johnny gasped between giggle fits, wiping tears from his eyes as he watched Dutch do a ridiculous little dance, trying to shake the snow free.
“Oh, it is ON!” Dutch growled, picking up a handful of snow and forming it into a ball. He threw it at Johnny’s smug face, but the long-legged bastard was already up and running, still laughing as he dashed for the shelter of some trees, the dogs hot on his heels, giving chase.
Soon, a flurry of taunts filled the air as they darted between the trees and the woodshed, pelting each other with snowballs. The dogs raced around them, pouncing on them and each other, snowballs exploding in their mouths as they tried to catch them in midair. They chased each other around the yard like a couple of schoolkids until finally they collapsed together in a tired heap, both of them soaked and shivering. Dutch had Johnny pinned again; their breaths mingled, puffing out in crystalline clouds as he leaned in to nuzzle Johnny’s pink, frost-nipped cheeks, the reddened tip of his long nose. The snow was coming down thicker now, swirling silently around them. Big, fluffy flakes that caught in Johnny’s hair and on his eyelashes, making them glitter in the sunlight.
“Pretty sure my balls have completely retracted inside my body.” Despite his bitching, Johnny’s smile was blinding, brighter than the sunlight glaring off the snow. Dutch basked in the warmth of it as Johnny tucked his frozen hands into the back pockets of his jeans and pulled him even closer.
“I could help you find them,” Dutch offered magnanimously, through chattering teeth. “If you can unfreeze my dick.”
Johnny tilted his head thoughtfully and pointedly licked his lips. They were a bit chapped from the cold, the same pretty pink as his cheeks, and Dutch couldn’t help but stare. “I can think of a few ways to warm it back up.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a few ideas, myself,” Dutch agreed, capturing those lips in a heated kiss, his tongue exploring the promising warmth of Johnny’s mouth. He got so lost in it, he was caught completely off guard when Johnny flipped their positions. The shock of his back meeting the icy ground made him gasp, breaking their kiss. Johnny’s lips curved into an evil grin, which was the only warning Dutch got before another handful of snow was mercilessly rubbed into his face.
“Ahhh! FUCK YOU!” Dutch spluttered, as Johnny slipped through his numbed fingertips and leapt to his feet.
“That’s the idea! Race you inside!” Johnny called over his shoulder, laughing as he made a beeline for the porch.
Still spluttering and blinking snow out of his eyes, Dutch stumbled to his feet and followed at a more sedate pace. On his way, he picked up his scarf and Johnny’s gloves that’d been abandoned in the snow, and he stopped to pet the dogs, who were curled up together on the porch, having finally tired themselves out.
“You did look ridiculous,” Dutch chuckled, scratching Bonzo’s damp ears. “That was funny as hell. Don’t tell Johnny I said that though, we don’t want the idiot getting any more ideas.”
“I heard that!”
Johnny had left the door partially open; through the crack, Dutch could see him by the fireside, already stripping off his layers of wet clothing. Shaking his head fondly, Dutch gave Bonzo one last, affectionate pat and went to join him. As he passed the steps, the abandoned camcorder caught his eye. It was still recording; Dutch wondered how much of their fight it’d captured. He bent to retrieve it and quickly ducked inside, closing the door behind him with a soft snap.
Johnny turned as he tossed the last of his shirts aside. His eyebrows shot up when he realized Dutch was filming him. A bright red flush spread down Johnny’s chest that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Seriously? Not sure that’s the kind of home movies your mom had in mind when she bought us that.”
Knowing his mom, Dutch was pretty sure that’s exactly what she had in mind. He shrugged shamelessly as he zoomed in on Johnny’s pecs, his hard, pink nipples, the way the firelight glinted off his piercings. “Whatever. She knew the risks when she gave us a camcorder. Hey, you think those are cold enough my tongue would stick to them?”
Johnny glanced down in amusement at his chest, then back up with a coy smile . Smirking straight at the camera, he shook his wet hair out of his eyes and let his hands drift down his abs toward the button on his jeans. Dutch let the camera linger on the trail of dark blond hair that disappeared below the waistband, lovingly following the cut of his hips.
“I dunno, but I triple-dog dare you to find out,” Johnny challenged, as he popped the button and peeled his wet jeans down his muscled thighs. His underwear soon followed; he twirled them playfully around his finger before tossing them at the camera. Then Johnny laid himself down on the rug in front of the fire, legs spread wide and inviting, and beckoned Dutch closer with a crook of his finger.
Dutch swallowed, already feeling hot under the collar despite his sopping wet clothes. “Triple-dog, huh? Can’t turn down a dare like that.”
Johnny leaned back on his elbows, shamelessly putting himself on full display for the camera. “No, you can’t. Now get over here and warm me up.”
Dutch carefully set the camera down on the coffee table. He checked the battery and left it running. As he stripped off his coat and went to fetch the cuffs, he wondered if he should’ve packed even more lube, instead of his stupid gloves.
Who needed 'em when he had a smoking-hot blond to keep him warm?