Hard as Ice
- Thread starter IDreamaboutMen
- Start date
perrito78
Sexy Member
Me encanto!! Esperando más!! Muchas gracias
Hmm, I really like thatSo happy you like it
Here’s the third part of Hard as Ice—now live.
You can read the full story over on my Substack. I always publish my stories there first since I find them easier to read in that format, but you’re welcome to read them however you prefer.
Feel free to drop a comment—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Part three
He could sense the man smiling. There was something about his shoulders that gave it away. That, and the sigh. There was a hint of happiness there.
– Aaah, boy, I’d love that, he said. But we need to get moving. We’re saved by the heat and their stupidity, which buys us some time. But as soon as they realize the file I sent is corrupt, they’ll start wondering what really happened here. We need to be very, very dead—at least until we figure out our next move.
– OK, the boy said. So… hiding, not kissing, then.
– Yeah, at least for now.
– And the plan is?
The man stood silent for a moment before speaking.
– We move upstream. My guess is there’ll be another chopper soon, with more men checking the area. And dogs. Our luck is that the snowstorm will cover our tracks, but we must move fast to use it to our advantage.
– OK. And they’ll assume that if we survived, we’d be heading south, right?
– Yeah, that’s what I’d think. Only idiots would move back up the hill.
– Idiots have more fun.
– Maybe, the man said. If they survive.
Without another word, they made their way back down the hillside, the snowfall thickening around them, already blurring their earlier tracks. The man stepped into the stream again, carefully balancing on the slick, half-hidden stones beneath the ice-cold surface.
They had fastened their skis upright onto their backpacks in the most practical way, making it easier to balance. But against the heavy stream and the sloping hill, they could only move slowly, deliberately—like mammoths or elephants on a steady trek.
The water was ice-cold, playing along the edges of the stream, sculpting the landscape as it moved. Smooth stones lay trapped beneath thin layers of ice, their slick surfaces treacherous underfoot. Jagged icicles hung like rows of sharpened needles along the bank, dripping into the dark current below. Even through their thick boots, the chill crept in, slowly numbing their feet.
They passed the small hill where the cottage had once stood. All that remained was the chimney and parts of the stairway leading to the entrance. What hadn’t been shattered into pieces stood burning like scarecrows on a bonfire. The air was thick with the stench of fuel, and melted snow mixed with soot and oil, forming black and white streaks as it slowly found its way toward the stream. A saucepan and parts of the stove lay crushed and blackened in the water.
The snow would soon cover them too.
That could have been us, the boy thought as they passed the twisted metal remains. He’d been close to death so many times that this shouldn’t have bothered him. And yet, it made him sad.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he?
Usually, being close to dying came with more anger, more stress, more violent strength. More outrage—fists, throats, kicks… guns. It was always a you or me kind of situation.
And he had always made sure it was them. Even before he had known that killing was his thing.
The snowfall had silenced the forest into a hypnotic stillness. Passing water sang in chime-like tones as it rushed down the mountain. The scent of falling snow stirred memories the boy had kept buried—memories of long walks through woods just like these. Steep mountainsides, the damp smell of moss and fallen leaves in the summer. The crisp crack of frozen snow crust giving way beneath his steps the rest of the year. Fleeting glimpses of lynx or the occasional mouflon. The graceful, effortless flight of gemsbok along the cliffs. Harvesting whatever the forest had to offer.
He knew he could hide here.
He had before.
By the time the sound of the second chopper reached them, they were still struggling forward, their frozen feet barely cooperating as they pushed on through the icy stream. They had followed its path for far too long, but the man signaled to keep going, even as the roar of the massive propellers drowned out everything else above them.
He didn’t dare to feel safe just yet. Getting comfortable was stupid. It always was—at least until the chopper was gone and there were no men, no dogs, no hunt.
He’s sturdy, the man thought, listening to the boy’s steady steps behind him. That’s a good thing. A very good thing.
Moving upstream was tedious, but it kept his mind occupied. Just enough. The boy had proven himself. He had followed without question, without hesitation, without even the slightest sign of having an agenda beyond survival.
Survival. And kissing, that is.
Oh, he would have loved to kiss him.
The boy was beautiful indeed. Very beautiful. And if he had managed to undermine that shithole of an organization as completely as he had, while maintaining that open, joyful look in his eyes… well, then he must be very, very good at what he did, as well as having an almost godlike ability to be untouched by the dark world he had moved in.
He felt his dick getting hard again. It had been very much alive since the boy got closer.
It wasn’t just his beauty—though that alone was enough to make any man take notice. It was the way he carried himself. The quiet strength. The unwavering focus. The way he followed without hesitation, trusting him.
He could see how the boy’s body would change, it had been used as a tool for lust and power, but it was built for survival. The bulging muscles would become lean and even stronger, honed by discipline and necessity. Not a gram of excess. He moved with a predator’s grace, every muscle efficient… controlled. And yet, there was that other too—that joy beneath all that steel.
The way he had watched him—how he had taken the seat he had just vacated, naked, legs spread, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, close to his cock. How he had sat there, completely at ease, watching him. Taking him in. He had felt the weight of that gaze, the deliberate slowness of it, how the boy’s eyes traced his body—his broad shoulders, the heavy muscles of his chest, the thick cock that had swayed slightly as he moved. And the boy had known exactly what he was doing. Sitting there like that, offering a glimpse of himself, just enough to stir something deep and instinctive in the man.
He had a natural sensuality, despite what he had been through.
The boy had survived in a world that should have crushed him. A brutal world of power and submission, where the only way to gain influence was through fear or desire. He had been the one ruling the desire.
And the man—who had gone too long without it, without the heat of another body, without the thrill of touch—could feel his hunger stir.
Not just hunger.
Longing. And warmth.
He clenched his jaw and kept moving. The icy water numbed his feet, but it did nothing to cool his blood. His pulse was heavy in his veins, and the hard weight between his legs was impossible to ignore.
He let out a slow breath.
This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place.
But fuck, he wanted him. Badly.
He wanted to feel that body against his. To press him against the nearest rock, taste the salt on his skin, hear his breath hitch in surprise. He wanted to know how the boy would hold up when it was him who set the pace, when it was him who took control.
The thought sent another pulse of heat through him.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind back to the cold, to the task ahead. Survival first. Desire later. But later would come. And when it did, he wouldn’t hold back.
The sound from the chopper hadn’t changed—it must still be hovering above the blown-out cottage, the man thought. By now, men would be descending on lines, searching for tracks. Any minute now, the dogs would come too. And the drones.
Wouldn’t do them much good, though.
Not with the heat from the burning wreck distorting thermal scans. Not with that thick, acrid stench of sulfur hanging in the air, laced with the faint, almost sweet trace of TNT.
The stream had long since washed away their own scent, lost in thousands of liters of icy, crystal-clear mountain water.
He signaled the boy to step out of the water and to join him under the sheltering branches of an ancient pine, waiting for them on the rocks just by the stream. They could reach it by lifting themselves up by strong branches, and by that not leaving any tracks on the snow bordering the stream.
He signaled for the boy to step out of the water and follow him beneath the sheltering branches of an ancient pine, its roots gripping the rocks just by the stream. They could reach it by pulling themselves up using the thick, sturdy branches—leaving no tracks in the snow that lined the banks.
By now, they both knew the drill. Stay hidden. Stick close to anything that broke up their outline—rocks, trees, uneven terrain. Keep listening. Try to figure out what came next.
It felt like ages, but it was probably no more than thirty minutes before the sound of the chopper changed. The steady buzz of hovering shifted into a deep roar as the engines kicked in, the black silhouette tilting its nose upward before angling into a turn—pulling back, heading north.
So, they’re using what’s left of the base, the man thought. I wonder what they’ll make of all that debris.
He knew there wouldn’t be much left to work with.
The boy had led him straight into the heart of the facility, deep inside the mountain. That’s where he’d left the truck—with just a thin wall separating the payload from the petrol tanks. But it hadn’t just been a truckload of TNT and a few thousand liters of diesel going up in flames.
Nope.
The fire would have found its way through the ventilation pipes, dragging the heat into the computer chamber. The biolabs. The places where the real bad boys had been working on even worse shit.
And that shit? It needed to be kept cool. Which meant… a whole lot of high-pressure bulbs filled with highly flammable gas.
Each one a bomb on its own.
Together?
Well—kaboom.
They must be pretty desperate to come back twice, he thought. If that was the case, they might leave some men behind—maybe even a dog—to sniff around for any trace of them, however slim the chance.
Still, they had no clue where he and the boy could have gone. If they had survived the attack.
And right now, they probably had bigger problems. They’d need to focus whatever resources they had left on recovering data.
Looking at what little remained of the cottage, it was obvious the goal had been to erase them completely—wipe them off the earth’s surface. Something they probably started regretting the moment they realized the file was corrupt.
A fair guess?
The man in charge was now desperately looking for scapegoats. And for anything—anything—that could still be salvaged.
The laptop he’d tampered with might be scattered among the debris. But if they found anything, he had made sure it would raise more questions than it answered. Doubt was a virus, and he had just infected their pretty little system.
Loyalty was fragile in an organization like theirs, and now someone—high up—would have to explain how classified intel had leaked. Had it been an inside job? A mole? Or had someone in the leadership played both sides all along?
They might well tear each other apart trying to find out which would keep them busy. And that would buy them time.
At least for a while. At least until he was ready to take the next step.
And if all went well, he and the boy wouldn’t just be safe. They would be very, very comfortable.
The boy’s presence had grown stronger with every hour they’d spent together. He could feel him, even when he wasn’t close. And when he was near, there was something else—something almost tangible between them. Call it energy, a hidden bond, or whatever people called things they didn’t fully understand.
Like now.
Standing back to back, scanning their surroundings, ears tuned for sudden movement, for anything out of place. He could sense the boy—see his stance in his mind, feel the way he turned his head slowly, deliberately, taking in every shadow, every sound.
But all he really wanted to do was turn around.
To pull him close. To feel those strong arms wrap around his waist, that warm weight leaning trustingly against his chest. To run his fingers through his hair, feel the steady rhythm of his breath, watch the mist rise from his lips, and vanish into the cold, thin air.
Had the day been clear, the blinding white mountain peaks would have reflected in his eyes. His irises, catching the light like cut crystal, shimmering with the beauty they absorbed—and returned to whoever dared to look.
And suddenly—almost overwhelmingly—he realized it.
The boy had no idea what he felt. None at all.
But in him, something had surfaced. A thought, or at least the beginning of one. The embryo of a feeling, the shadow of a truth—he didn’t just want to keep the boy safe.
He wanted to give him the world.
A warmth spread through his chest. Slow, steady. Radiating outward from that muscle he hadn’t used in a long time.
He liked it.
But if there was going to be a world left to give, they had to keep moving.
He signaled for the boy to follow him into the forest. Before long, he found what he was looking for—a cliff that angled outward, forming a narrow but mostly barren space beneath it. A perfect place to set up a bivouac and disappear for the night.
He lifted his mask just enough to whisper:
— It should be safe to talk now. The forest is too thick for drones, and we’d hear any dogs moving up the stream toward us.
— Would dogs even make it this far in the water? the boy asked.
— No, you’re right. They probably wouldn’t. Good thought. The man nodded. And a nice relief for us.
They dropped their backpacks and pulled out their foldable shovels, quickly packing snow into a solid wall to shield them from view. In no time, they had built up a natural-looking snowdrift, just large enough to crawl behind, with the cliff above acting as a roof.
The boy stretched his arms and smirked.
— Are we treating ourselves to the luxury of sleeping bags tonight?
The man glanced around instinctively before answering—almost surprised by his response.
— Yeah… I actually think we can.
— Nice. The boy grinned. I’ll set them up while you do your thing.
The man crouched beside his pack and powered up the drone. He had already armed it with a small surprise, pre-programmed with coordinates just across the stream.
A low-yield charge—not enough to cause real damage, just a quick, muffled bang, designed to kick up a blinding cloud of snow and scatter distracting scents. Any dogs still on their trail would be led in the wrong direction, and anyone chasing them would have something else to focus on.
Just enough to buy them time.
It was a clever little tool, and if they didn’t use the charge, the drone would try to retrieve it in the morning.
The storm had calmed, but snowflakes still drifted lazily through the air. He lifted a hand, letting a few settle on his palm. They were barely visible in the fading light, but the deep blue glow of the mountain sunset made them almost luminescent.
Whatever happens, I’ll remember this, he thought.
A man who can still see beauty in the smallest things… he can’t be completely lost…Or can he?
He shrugged and made his way back to the shelter. The soft, nearly imperceptible hum of the drone followed him. It hovered for a second before landing neatly in his palm. With practiced movements, he folded it into a compact, almost weightless box, then got down on his knees and crawled into their newly built quarters.
The boy met him with a grin.
— Welcome home, darling. Hope you had a lovely day.
— Oh, thank you, sweetheart. It’s been simply marvelous.
— No choppers trying to gun you down today, love?
— Not today, daaaahling. He inched closer, his hands brushing over the snow-covered sleeping bag. But who knows what tomorrow brings? A little bomb here, a little missile there.
— I tell ya, this neighborhood is going downhill fast. The boy shook his head dramatically. I warned you about this place. "Get a spot in the mountains," they said. "Nice and quiet," they said. But did anyone mention the airstrikes? Nooo.
— You’re absolutely right, sweetheart.
The man crawled closer.
The boy had taken off his ski mask now.
Freckles.
Scattered across his nose, faint but there.
Up close, the man could see them properly for the first time. Small details, insignificant in the grand scheme of things—but here, at this moment, they felt monumental.
— Not many nice boys up here, I agree.
His voice was quieter now.
— But… His fingers barely grazed the boy’s jawline. I think I might have found one.
And then he kissed him.
To be continued…
You can read the full story over on my Substack. I always publish my stories there first since I find them easier to read in that format, but you’re welcome to read them however you prefer.
Feel free to drop a comment—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Part three
He could sense the man smiling. There was something about his shoulders that gave it away. That, and the sigh. There was a hint of happiness there.
– Aaah, boy, I’d love that, he said. But we need to get moving. We’re saved by the heat and their stupidity, which buys us some time. But as soon as they realize the file I sent is corrupt, they’ll start wondering what really happened here. We need to be very, very dead—at least until we figure out our next move.
– OK, the boy said. So… hiding, not kissing, then.
– Yeah, at least for now.
– And the plan is?
The man stood silent for a moment before speaking.
– We move upstream. My guess is there’ll be another chopper soon, with more men checking the area. And dogs. Our luck is that the snowstorm will cover our tracks, but we must move fast to use it to our advantage.
– OK. And they’ll assume that if we survived, we’d be heading south, right?
– Yeah, that’s what I’d think. Only idiots would move back up the hill.
– Idiots have more fun.
– Maybe, the man said. If they survive.
Without another word, they made their way back down the hillside, the snowfall thickening around them, already blurring their earlier tracks. The man stepped into the stream again, carefully balancing on the slick, half-hidden stones beneath the ice-cold surface.
They had fastened their skis upright onto their backpacks in the most practical way, making it easier to balance. But against the heavy stream and the sloping hill, they could only move slowly, deliberately—like mammoths or elephants on a steady trek.
The water was ice-cold, playing along the edges of the stream, sculpting the landscape as it moved. Smooth stones lay trapped beneath thin layers of ice, their slick surfaces treacherous underfoot. Jagged icicles hung like rows of sharpened needles along the bank, dripping into the dark current below. Even through their thick boots, the chill crept in, slowly numbing their feet.
They passed the small hill where the cottage had once stood. All that remained was the chimney and parts of the stairway leading to the entrance. What hadn’t been shattered into pieces stood burning like scarecrows on a bonfire. The air was thick with the stench of fuel, and melted snow mixed with soot and oil, forming black and white streaks as it slowly found its way toward the stream. A saucepan and parts of the stove lay crushed and blackened in the water.
The snow would soon cover them too.
That could have been us, the boy thought as they passed the twisted metal remains. He’d been close to death so many times that this shouldn’t have bothered him. And yet, it made him sad.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he?
Usually, being close to dying came with more anger, more stress, more violent strength. More outrage—fists, throats, kicks… guns. It was always a you or me kind of situation.
And he had always made sure it was them. Even before he had known that killing was his thing.
The snowfall had silenced the forest into a hypnotic stillness. Passing water sang in chime-like tones as it rushed down the mountain. The scent of falling snow stirred memories the boy had kept buried—memories of long walks through woods just like these. Steep mountainsides, the damp smell of moss and fallen leaves in the summer. The crisp crack of frozen snow crust giving way beneath his steps the rest of the year. Fleeting glimpses of lynx or the occasional mouflon. The graceful, effortless flight of gemsbok along the cliffs. Harvesting whatever the forest had to offer.
He knew he could hide here.
He had before.
By the time the sound of the second chopper reached them, they were still struggling forward, their frozen feet barely cooperating as they pushed on through the icy stream. They had followed its path for far too long, but the man signaled to keep going, even as the roar of the massive propellers drowned out everything else above them.
He didn’t dare to feel safe just yet. Getting comfortable was stupid. It always was—at least until the chopper was gone and there were no men, no dogs, no hunt.
He’s sturdy, the man thought, listening to the boy’s steady steps behind him. That’s a good thing. A very good thing.
Moving upstream was tedious, but it kept his mind occupied. Just enough. The boy had proven himself. He had followed without question, without hesitation, without even the slightest sign of having an agenda beyond survival.
Survival. And kissing, that is.
Oh, he would have loved to kiss him.
The boy was beautiful indeed. Very beautiful. And if he had managed to undermine that shithole of an organization as completely as he had, while maintaining that open, joyful look in his eyes… well, then he must be very, very good at what he did, as well as having an almost godlike ability to be untouched by the dark world he had moved in.
He felt his dick getting hard again. It had been very much alive since the boy got closer.
It wasn’t just his beauty—though that alone was enough to make any man take notice. It was the way he carried himself. The quiet strength. The unwavering focus. The way he followed without hesitation, trusting him.
He could see how the boy’s body would change, it had been used as a tool for lust and power, but it was built for survival. The bulging muscles would become lean and even stronger, honed by discipline and necessity. Not a gram of excess. He moved with a predator’s grace, every muscle efficient… controlled. And yet, there was that other too—that joy beneath all that steel.
The way he had watched him—how he had taken the seat he had just vacated, naked, legs spread, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, close to his cock. How he had sat there, completely at ease, watching him. Taking him in. He had felt the weight of that gaze, the deliberate slowness of it, how the boy’s eyes traced his body—his broad shoulders, the heavy muscles of his chest, the thick cock that had swayed slightly as he moved. And the boy had known exactly what he was doing. Sitting there like that, offering a glimpse of himself, just enough to stir something deep and instinctive in the man.
He had a natural sensuality, despite what he had been through.
The boy had survived in a world that should have crushed him. A brutal world of power and submission, where the only way to gain influence was through fear or desire. He had been the one ruling the desire.
And the man—who had gone too long without it, without the heat of another body, without the thrill of touch—could feel his hunger stir.
Not just hunger.
Longing. And warmth.
He clenched his jaw and kept moving. The icy water numbed his feet, but it did nothing to cool his blood. His pulse was heavy in his veins, and the hard weight between his legs was impossible to ignore.
He let out a slow breath.
This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place.
But fuck, he wanted him. Badly.
He wanted to feel that body against his. To press him against the nearest rock, taste the salt on his skin, hear his breath hitch in surprise. He wanted to know how the boy would hold up when it was him who set the pace, when it was him who took control.
The thought sent another pulse of heat through him.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind back to the cold, to the task ahead. Survival first. Desire later. But later would come. And when it did, he wouldn’t hold back.
The sound from the chopper hadn’t changed—it must still be hovering above the blown-out cottage, the man thought. By now, men would be descending on lines, searching for tracks. Any minute now, the dogs would come too. And the drones.
Wouldn’t do them much good, though.
Not with the heat from the burning wreck distorting thermal scans. Not with that thick, acrid stench of sulfur hanging in the air, laced with the faint, almost sweet trace of TNT.
The stream had long since washed away their own scent, lost in thousands of liters of icy, crystal-clear mountain water.
He signaled the boy to step out of the water and to join him under the sheltering branches of an ancient pine, waiting for them on the rocks just by the stream. They could reach it by lifting themselves up by strong branches, and by that not leaving any tracks on the snow bordering the stream.
He signaled for the boy to step out of the water and follow him beneath the sheltering branches of an ancient pine, its roots gripping the rocks just by the stream. They could reach it by pulling themselves up using the thick, sturdy branches—leaving no tracks in the snow that lined the banks.
By now, they both knew the drill. Stay hidden. Stick close to anything that broke up their outline—rocks, trees, uneven terrain. Keep listening. Try to figure out what came next.
It felt like ages, but it was probably no more than thirty minutes before the sound of the chopper changed. The steady buzz of hovering shifted into a deep roar as the engines kicked in, the black silhouette tilting its nose upward before angling into a turn—pulling back, heading north.
So, they’re using what’s left of the base, the man thought. I wonder what they’ll make of all that debris.
He knew there wouldn’t be much left to work with.
The boy had led him straight into the heart of the facility, deep inside the mountain. That’s where he’d left the truck—with just a thin wall separating the payload from the petrol tanks. But it hadn’t just been a truckload of TNT and a few thousand liters of diesel going up in flames.
Nope.
The fire would have found its way through the ventilation pipes, dragging the heat into the computer chamber. The biolabs. The places where the real bad boys had been working on even worse shit.
And that shit? It needed to be kept cool. Which meant… a whole lot of high-pressure bulbs filled with highly flammable gas.
Each one a bomb on its own.
Together?
Well—kaboom.
They must be pretty desperate to come back twice, he thought. If that was the case, they might leave some men behind—maybe even a dog—to sniff around for any trace of them, however slim the chance.
Still, they had no clue where he and the boy could have gone. If they had survived the attack.
And right now, they probably had bigger problems. They’d need to focus whatever resources they had left on recovering data.
Looking at what little remained of the cottage, it was obvious the goal had been to erase them completely—wipe them off the earth’s surface. Something they probably started regretting the moment they realized the file was corrupt.
A fair guess?
The man in charge was now desperately looking for scapegoats. And for anything—anything—that could still be salvaged.
The laptop he’d tampered with might be scattered among the debris. But if they found anything, he had made sure it would raise more questions than it answered. Doubt was a virus, and he had just infected their pretty little system.
Loyalty was fragile in an organization like theirs, and now someone—high up—would have to explain how classified intel had leaked. Had it been an inside job? A mole? Or had someone in the leadership played both sides all along?
They might well tear each other apart trying to find out which would keep them busy. And that would buy them time.
At least for a while. At least until he was ready to take the next step.
And if all went well, he and the boy wouldn’t just be safe. They would be very, very comfortable.
The boy’s presence had grown stronger with every hour they’d spent together. He could feel him, even when he wasn’t close. And when he was near, there was something else—something almost tangible between them. Call it energy, a hidden bond, or whatever people called things they didn’t fully understand.
Like now.
Standing back to back, scanning their surroundings, ears tuned for sudden movement, for anything out of place. He could sense the boy—see his stance in his mind, feel the way he turned his head slowly, deliberately, taking in every shadow, every sound.
But all he really wanted to do was turn around.
To pull him close. To feel those strong arms wrap around his waist, that warm weight leaning trustingly against his chest. To run his fingers through his hair, feel the steady rhythm of his breath, watch the mist rise from his lips, and vanish into the cold, thin air.
Had the day been clear, the blinding white mountain peaks would have reflected in his eyes. His irises, catching the light like cut crystal, shimmering with the beauty they absorbed—and returned to whoever dared to look.
And suddenly—almost overwhelmingly—he realized it.
The boy had no idea what he felt. None at all.
But in him, something had surfaced. A thought, or at least the beginning of one. The embryo of a feeling, the shadow of a truth—he didn’t just want to keep the boy safe.
He wanted to give him the world.
A warmth spread through his chest. Slow, steady. Radiating outward from that muscle he hadn’t used in a long time.
He liked it.
But if there was going to be a world left to give, they had to keep moving.
He signaled for the boy to follow him into the forest. Before long, he found what he was looking for—a cliff that angled outward, forming a narrow but mostly barren space beneath it. A perfect place to set up a bivouac and disappear for the night.
He lifted his mask just enough to whisper:
— It should be safe to talk now. The forest is too thick for drones, and we’d hear any dogs moving up the stream toward us.
— Would dogs even make it this far in the water? the boy asked.
— No, you’re right. They probably wouldn’t. Good thought. The man nodded. And a nice relief for us.
They dropped their backpacks and pulled out their foldable shovels, quickly packing snow into a solid wall to shield them from view. In no time, they had built up a natural-looking snowdrift, just large enough to crawl behind, with the cliff above acting as a roof.
The boy stretched his arms and smirked.
— Are we treating ourselves to the luxury of sleeping bags tonight?
The man glanced around instinctively before answering—almost surprised by his response.
— Yeah… I actually think we can.
— Nice. The boy grinned. I’ll set them up while you do your thing.
The man crouched beside his pack and powered up the drone. He had already armed it with a small surprise, pre-programmed with coordinates just across the stream.
A low-yield charge—not enough to cause real damage, just a quick, muffled bang, designed to kick up a blinding cloud of snow and scatter distracting scents. Any dogs still on their trail would be led in the wrong direction, and anyone chasing them would have something else to focus on.
Just enough to buy them time.
It was a clever little tool, and if they didn’t use the charge, the drone would try to retrieve it in the morning.
The storm had calmed, but snowflakes still drifted lazily through the air. He lifted a hand, letting a few settle on his palm. They were barely visible in the fading light, but the deep blue glow of the mountain sunset made them almost luminescent.
Whatever happens, I’ll remember this, he thought.
A man who can still see beauty in the smallest things… he can’t be completely lost…Or can he?
He shrugged and made his way back to the shelter. The soft, nearly imperceptible hum of the drone followed him. It hovered for a second before landing neatly in his palm. With practiced movements, he folded it into a compact, almost weightless box, then got down on his knees and crawled into their newly built quarters.
The boy met him with a grin.
— Welcome home, darling. Hope you had a lovely day.
— Oh, thank you, sweetheart. It’s been simply marvelous.
— No choppers trying to gun you down today, love?
— Not today, daaaahling. He inched closer, his hands brushing over the snow-covered sleeping bag. But who knows what tomorrow brings? A little bomb here, a little missile there.
— I tell ya, this neighborhood is going downhill fast. The boy shook his head dramatically. I warned you about this place. "Get a spot in the mountains," they said. "Nice and quiet," they said. But did anyone mention the airstrikes? Nooo.
— You’re absolutely right, sweetheart.
The man crawled closer.
The boy had taken off his ski mask now.
Freckles.
Scattered across his nose, faint but there.
Up close, the man could see them properly for the first time. Small details, insignificant in the grand scheme of things—but here, at this moment, they felt monumental.
— Not many nice boys up here, I agree.
His voice was quieter now.
— But… His fingers barely grazed the boy’s jawline. I think I might have found one.
And then he kissed him.
To be continued…
Thanks for another exciting episode, Chris!
Love the repartee toward the end! Judging from this and The Beach House, you seem to have a gift for repartee.
Does he really think the young man will cede control that readily? I sure don't.
That should make for an interesting love-battle of wills ...
Love the repartee toward the end! Judging from this and The Beach House, you seem to have a gift for repartee.
Does he really think the young man will cede control that readily? I sure don't.
That should make for an interesting love-battle of wills ...
Thank YOU for reading and sharing your thoughts!
Yes, I do enjoy it when the characters banter a bit. I thought this would break the monotony they’ve been forced to endure for quite a while while also—hopefully—showing more of their personalities and how their attraction manifests in their interaction. The steamier parts become more relevant when the characters themselves feel more real—just like the story as a whole.And also - some power shifts and domination never killed nobody.
And also - some power shifts and domination never killed nobody.
Weeellllllllllll, ...
... that's not always true. Especially outside the realm of consensual sex. And these two are certainly in a situation where they could get killed.
Speaking of which, I had assumed, when I saw that the mission was to blow up a cave-bound lab where very bad guys were concocting very bad things, that our heroes were acting on behalf of the authorities. I kept assuming that when I saw the military-grade resources and multiple passports at their disposal. But, now that I see that military-grade resources are being used to try to kill them, I'm not at all sure whom they were acting on behalf of, or who trained them. For that matter, I don't even know if they're in their own country or abroad.
What's more the younger man has concluded that whatever command structure had authority over them has been wiped out -- something that doesn't seem to follow from what we see through the eyes of the older man. So the two don't seem to have quite the same understanding of the situation they're in (beyond the fact that someone with military-grade resources is trying to kill them both).
These ambiguities are by design, right?
Thanks for sharing your thoughts! I’ve done my best to keep the story tight and focused, hoping to stay clear and distinct despite all the gray areas it plays with. But I’m starting to wonder if I’ve actually pulled that off.
Yes, the ambiguities are intentional (and what I find most interesting with the story). The organization they work for is technically one of the good guys, but that doesn’t mean everything they do is good - or that the people in charge are. Power has a tendency to corrupt it it isn’t challenged. Just because these two have military-grade resources supporting their mission, doesn’t mean they’re protected by the system that gave them those tools.
There is also an age dynamic at play (which I also love to explore) The older man is more experienced, more cautious, less trusting because he has learned to be. But at the same time, he sees something in the younger man that he fears is lost in himself: trust, belief, love for life , the ability to move forward without second-guessing every step. And he values that when he sees it in the boy He suddenly realises that he wants to protect it, not break it
The younger man assumes their entire command structure has been wiped out, while the older man isn’t convinced. That’s not just about what they know, it is also about how they see the world. The younger man believes in clarity, in getting answers. The older man knows rarely clarity offers answers that really matter.
I keep some things open-ended because that’s the world they live in. They don’t have all the answers, which makes me care for them. Because in their reality, nothing is ever black and white.
Does that resonate with you?
Does it resonate with me? Mostly ...
I don't quite get where the younger man's presumption that the command structure has been wiped out comes from. The lab he wiped out belonged to the enemy, not to his organization. (Or, at least, so the author wants us to think ...)
The older man seems to think that his and the younger man's bosses have turned on them and want to kill them -- and it was those bosses who blew up the cabin they were in. But if those bosses blew up the cabin, that means said bosses are not wiped out.
The two men's bosses are the same, aren't they? They seem to think so, and the instructions they've been given (such as disrobing for the drone to scan the codes on their bodies) seem to match. But I suppose it's possible their bosses aren't the same.
Also, the older man helped build the organization they work for and completed this mission for -- and that organization is apparently now trying to kill him and his younger colleague. That seems like something an organized crime syndicate would do, not a military or government security organization. (Exception for governments which are organized crime syndicates. Russia leaps to mind.) A military governmental security organization wouldn't throw out everything that it has invested in someone like the older man unless it believed that person had become a traitor.
It also seems somewhat incongruous that the younger man would still have that much trust, belief, and love for life when he spent months having to literally whore himself out to the people whose lab he blew up.
I don't quite get where the younger man's presumption that the command structure has been wiped out comes from. The lab he wiped out belonged to the enemy, not to his organization. (Or, at least, so the author wants us to think ...)
The older man seems to think that his and the younger man's bosses have turned on them and want to kill them -- and it was those bosses who blew up the cabin they were in. But if those bosses blew up the cabin, that means said bosses are not wiped out.
The two men's bosses are the same, aren't they? They seem to think so, and the instructions they've been given (such as disrobing for the drone to scan the codes on their bodies) seem to match. But I suppose it's possible their bosses aren't the same.
Also, the older man helped build the organization they work for and completed this mission for -- and that organization is apparently now trying to kill him and his younger colleague. That seems like something an organized crime syndicate would do, not a military or government security organization. (Exception for governments which are organized crime syndicates. Russia leaps to mind.) A military governmental security organization wouldn't throw out everything that it has invested in someone like the older man unless it believed that person had become a traitor.
It also seems somewhat incongruous that the younger man would still have that much trust, belief, and love for life when he spent months having to literally whore himself out to the people whose lab he blew up.
Just to reiterate, I know that at least some of the ambiguity I discussed in my pervious comment is intentional, and I'm not necessarily complaining.
No worries—I enjoy this discussion.
So, here are my thoughts:
The boy has had to adjust rapidly to the fact that his organization has turned on him, forcing him to run for his life. The chain of command he refers to is his own (their own), and by mentioning it, he acknowledges that he can no longer see himself as part of the organization that trained and fostered him. Being rescued by the man makes him realize that he can trust him—he could just as easily have been left in the cottage, for all he knows. So, the growing attraction he has felt for some time now combines with feelings of trust and of being cared for (without any hidden agenda). His way of acknowledging this is physical, in line with his training and mental conditioning. This reaction is superficial and simplistic—perhaps due to his training, personal traits, his youth, or as a coping mechanism—and it is, for me, an interesting aspect of the deepening relationship between the two, as the story will show.
When it comes to the older man versus the organization, what I want to explore is the mutual sense of distrust that exists in any politically driven organization, as people within them usually seek power in one way or another. This is especially true in organizations like these, where knowledge of operations that often break laws—and the knowledge of victims and the damage of those operations—can be dangerous both for the organization and the operatives if the information goes public or falls into the wrong hands. In this case, the scenario is that the man is reaching his "best before date," and it seems his superiors have decided it would be best to eliminate him as soon as he completes this task.
One thing about my storytelling is that I try not to make every aspect obvious from the beginning. Backgrounds will unfold as the story progresses, and characters will develop along the way. I like to plant questions (for those who care enough to look for them) that I hope to answer in a satisfying way over time.
I also aim to make my stories tight and compact without losing the layers that make them engaging. That said, I can see that this particular part of the story could have used more details. I often go back to rewrite and refine my stories, improving the wording and clarity where I feel I haven't quite achieved what I’m aiming for. This can be a bit conflicting, as I also want to publish as soon as possible to gauge readers’ reactions. That’s one reason Substack is a more flexible platform for me—I can go back and edit my texts there, whereas on LPSG, once a piece is posted, I can’t make any adjustments.
You are doing an awesome job---Excellent reading---keep your way of writing....No worries—I enjoy this discussion.
So, here are my thoughts:
The boy has had to adjust rapidly to the fact that his organization has turned on him, forcing him to run for his life. The chain of command he refers to is his own (their own), and by mentioning it, he acknowledges that he can no longer see himself as part of the organization that trained and fostered him. Being rescued by the man makes him realize that he can trust him—he could just as easily have been left in the cottage, for all he knows. So, the growing attraction he has felt for some time now combines with feelings of trust and of being cared for (without any hidden agenda). His way of acknowledging this is physical, in line with his training and mental conditioning. This reaction is superficial and simplistic—perhaps due to his training, personal traits, his youth, or as a coping mechanism—and it is, for me, an interesting aspect of the deepening relationship between the two, as the story will show.
When it comes to the older man versus the organization, what I want to explore is the mutual sense of distrust that exists in any politically driven organization, as people within them usually seek power in one way or another. This is especially true in organizations like these, where knowledge of operations that often break laws—and the knowledge of victims and the damage of those operations—can be dangerous both for the organization and the operatives if the information goes public or falls into the wrong hands. In this case, the scenario is that the man is reaching his "best before date," and it seems his superiors have decided it would be best to eliminate him as soon as he completes this task.
One thing about my storytelling is that I try not to make every aspect obvious from the beginning. Backgrounds will unfold as the story progresses, and characters will develop along the way. I like to plant questions (for those who care enough to look for them) that I hope to answer in a satisfying way over time.
I also aim to make my stories tight and compact without losing the layers that make them engaging. That said, I can see that this particular part of the story could have used more details. I often go back to rewrite and refine my stories, improving the wording and clarity where I feel I haven't quite achieved what I’m aiming for. This can be a bit conflicting, as I also want to publish as soon as possible to gauge readers’ reactions. That’s one reason Substack is a more flexible platform for me—I can go back and edit my texts there, whereas on LPSG, once a piece is posted, I can’t make any adjustments.
Yeah, I know. The steam is coming, just really enjoyed letting the chemistry evolve a bit before the heat is on.
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