Snow Drifting

This didn't last long. Reynolds was too much in heat. He stood up behind the librarian, pulled a condom packet out of his trousers pocket, split the package with his teeth, and rolled the condom on his long, hard cock with one hand, while he pressed the young man's lower back to the desk top with the palm of the other hand. That wasn't enough, physically, to hold the librarian down, but Dayton wasn't going anywhere and he never had questioned the doctor's emotional control over him. He was grinding his crotch into the front panel of the desk and murmuring, "You're driving me crazy. Do it. Do it. Cover me. Doggie me."

Reynolds ripped his belt buckle open, flared his trousers to get all of himself exposed. He pressed Dayton's cheek to the desk top with one hand and grabbed one of the young man's wrists with other and cruelly twisted his arm behind his back. He moved his hips to position his cock head at the young man's hole, and started the slow, deep journey up into the librarian's channel.

Dayton writhed under him crying out "Yes, yes, yes!" in a voice full of pain and pleasure that echoed out into the main library room, as Reynolds opened him up with his cock and then fucked him in slow, but relentless, thrusts. As Reynolds got close, he leaned over and turned Dayton's face toward his. He was kissing him deep when his flow started, with jerks and little gasps from Dayton, and he filled out the bulb of the condom.

They held there, cheek to cheek, for several minutes, both concentrating on Reynolds going flaccid inside Dayton's channel, both working to calm their jerking and shuddering down.

"That was . . ."

"What?" Reynolds asked.

"Purely primitive," the librarian answered. "Primordial. Right up to when you used a condom."

"Do you want me to fuck you without one?"

"Someday, yes. When we can know it's safe—when we know it's just the two of us."

"Sorry. I've had a rough day. I couldn't help it. I wanted you so bad."

"Don't be sorry. I had no idea you'd want me that badly. It was glorious."

"Yes, I want you that badly. I . . . I love you. This isn't like me. I wouldn't have a need this strong or be lost to it if I wasn't lost to you."

"I love you back," Ken Dayton whispered. Then after a pause. "But Cory. Should we keep this from Cory?"

"No, I'll tell Cory. I think he suspects anyway. Scott's back. This is maybe the best time to tell Cory. But I can't be without you."

"Are you going to let me up and take me home?"

"Do you want me to let you up? I could do you again right here."

"Take me home. Do me there, properly on the bed."

And that's what Reynolds did, this time both of them naked. Dayton lay on his back at the foot of the bed, with Reynolds crouched between his thighs, hands clutching the young man's butt cheeks, spreading them and raising them to his groin, Dayton's torso streaming back on the bed, arms outstretched, clutching wads of the bedspread, rocking his hips up into the slow-thrusting cock, murmuring his pleasure and the power of his master, reciting all of the exotic and heavenly places the doctor was taking him in the glorious fuck.

* * * *

When the first call wasn't answered, Scott pulled out his wallet, checked a number, and made another call. This one went through.

"I hoped you'd call someday."

"Yes, well. I'm horny now. Are you—?"

"I have a furlough today and had no way to use it for anything. This damn snow. It won't stop."

"Are you getting it at the fort like I said you could?"

"Yes."

"You getting better than you got from me?"

"No. But I'm trying. Taking samples. This place wants a lot of blow jobbing. Not enough carry through."

"You want my cock again?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tonight?"

"It's snowing. Nobody seems to be going anywhere."

"Be at the Route 11 gate in twenty minutes. Wear something warm. We'll be on a snowmobile for a little while."

"Fucking in a snowsuit won't—"

"We'll be inside. You'll be naked. So will I. And we'll have all the heat we need. You'll be in as much pain and pleasure as you can take."

"Twenty minutes at the Route 11 gate," he said and disconnected.

There was a gay dive named Sarge's a quarter of a mile south on Patterson Lane, from Route 11, half way between Watertown and Fort Drum. It was there to serve soldiers from Fort Drum. Scott knew every hookup spot in the area from when he'd lived before. He trained up to sex with soldiers from Fort Drum—mostly in the cabins behind the bar at Sarge's.

He took Josh, the Jewish guy he'd met on the trip from New York to Watertown to one of the cabins behind the bar. He put him up against the wall, the soldier's back to the wall, and held him there with a choke hold, while Josh hooked his legs on Scott's hips and clutched his biceps, and Scott forced Josh's shocked channel open with his thick cock, thrusting up again and again. Pulling Josh down and pushing him to the floor on all fours, Scott mounted his ass and finished him in a pounding doggie.

Josh loved every minute of it and begged Scott to call him and do him again before Christmas.

"I haven't found anyone at Fort Drum with a tattoo or a power body or a huge cock like you have," Josh gushed. "Nobody's done me like you have."

"And that's how you want to be done?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

Scott laughed.

* * * *

Thanksgiving had early this year, on November 22nd. There were nearly five weeks between then and Christmas. Scott let his dad know he'd be staying at the house at least through Christmas. Stanford was happy with at least that much information on what his oldest son intended to do—Scott even told him he'd be working at Schaffer's garage, fixing cars, while he was here—but Scott wouldn't commit any further on his future plans beyond that.

"You know you can't just drift forever," Stanford said.

"I can until I decide what I want. I'll be working, Dad. I won't mooch from you. I'll pay rent and help with the food. I can bunk somewhere else if I'm in the way here."

"You know that's not the point, son," Stanford said.

They left it at that.

Scott did trudge up the snow-bound street to West Main every week day to sit in the Exon garage and wait for cars to work on. He would have come in on Saturday, too, if Jack Schaffer called him and needed him. Jack needed him, but not for that.

There was no lack of sex for Scott during those five weeks. Whenever he was at home and in heat when Stanford was called away to a patient (or a lover, although Scott and Cory weren't kept apprised of that) and Cory was willing, which was whenever Scott was in heat, Scott fucked Cory in Scott's bedroom. Cory would never do it in the master bedroom, and he always was reluctant at first to do it with Scott behind Stanford's back, but once Scott had gotten his cock in him, Cory melted to him and rode the cock enthusiastically. They had to get into the fuck, though, for Cory to wholeheartedly go with it. He always reacted to it as a bad habit he couldn't break.

And there was Jack. The snow kept building and drifting. It would melt a bit by day and freeze again by night, during which the snows would come again and cover the ice. They were at twenty accumulated inches by Christmas Eve. Very few people were getting out on the streets in their cars. Even fewer were deciding this would be a good time to take their car to the garage to have it worked on. Jack and Scott had a lot of time on their hands. They spent a lot of it with finding new ways for Scott to cover Jack and pound his ass into submission.

The edge came off the Scott and Jack show, though, during those weeks before it could work its way into a relationship. It became another instance of Jack having something else going as well that took over his interest—like had happened with Ricky before Scott had left for the army.

A guy named Vince brought his Dodge Ram in for Scott to check over. Scott did a double take when he saw him. It was like looking into a mirror. He was a tall, husky, Norwegian-type blond with rugged, handsome features and a swagger that told one and all that, yes, in fact, he was hung, that he knew what to do with his cock, and that he had no trouble rounding up someone to do it to. Unlike Scott, though, he played cowboy, wearing cowboy boots, a ten-gallon hat, and fringed Western shirts. He could bring the fashion choice off, however. No one sniggered at Vince Evans. Women and men alike melted for him.

Scott was to find out, starting the day Vince brought his Dodge Ram in for an hour and a half of inspection it didn't need, that Jack was one of the men who melted to him—and probably had been doing so for some time before Scott showed up unexpectedly in Scott's bathtub. That day Vince was gone for an hour and a half while Scott played with his truck and Jack closed the gas station office for lunch for the same time period. Later that afternoon, business was so sparse that Scott wanted to play around upstairs but Jack said he was too tired that day.

It didn't take a genius . . .

Over the weeks, Vince showed up more than any other customers did, and one Saturday night, the week before Christmas, on December 22nd, Scott was horny, Stanford and Cory were out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, and Scott decided to visit Jack. He had a key to the apartment over the gas station. The Dodge Ram was parked in front of the gas station, so Scott knew what he'd find upstairs. He checked it out anyway. Vince had Jack tied up, more so than Scott ever had. Jack was hogtied, wrists to ankles, with a spread bar keeping his legs spread, He was face up and ass down on his bed, and Vince was mounted on his ass and pounding away. And, yes, Vince was hung like a bull.

Scott went home, called Josh, was assured Josh could appear at the Route 11 gate at Fort Drum in twenty minutes, and Scott took him to a cabin behind Sarge's bar and fucked the shit out of him. Josh moaned his appreciation and then Scott fucked the hell out of him again. Josh expressed full satisfaction after the second time too, but he lay there, spread-eagled on the bed, moaning softly. He hadn't come that time and Scott sat down beside him on the bed and turned him over on his back. With a groan, Josh spread his legs, bending them, and presenting his tail again, thinking there would be a third fuck, and, though exhausted, welcoming it. But Scott didn't fuck him with his cock. He entered the gaping hole with a couple of fingers and stroked the young man's cock with the other hand, while Josh groaned, rocked wearily against the fucking fingers and, at last, ejaculated in a weak stream.

Afterward, as they lay together on the bed, calming back down, Josh said, "I was afraid you wouldn't call me again before Christmas." He sounded a bit whiny and needy.

"Would you come out with me again after how hard I worked you tonight?"

"Of course. You're the best." Scott had half wanted Josh not to want any more of this. There were fresh soldiers at the fort for Scott to discover and exhaust. Josh was getting needy.

"I've been busy," Scott answered. "You not getting enough from the soldiers at Fort Drum?"

"I get a lot, but no one does it like you do. You know, I've gotten an opportunity transfer to Fort Dix, in New Jersey. That would put me near where my family is. The weather would be better than here. I'm not sure I'd like it there as much, or get there what I can get here. What do you think? What do you think I should do?"

Scott didn't bite. He didn't take the hint to tell Josh that Scott couldn't live without him here.

"I think it's probably a great opportunity. You could get out of this snow," Scott said. "I think you should do it." He fucked Josh again and then took him back to the gate at Fort Drum. He was not going to have a relationship with Josh. No way. He was a good occasional lay, but . . .

He knew he could continue mixing it up with Jack, if he kept it cool—which he probably wanted to do, but there would be no deeper relationship there either. Still, it was kind of neat that the man Jack had latched on to to take care of him when Scott wasn't there was virtually a mirror image of Scott himself.

* * * *

In some respects, Christmas Day at the Reynolds house was much the same as Thanksgiving Day had been. In some significant ways it was different, though. It was extended family day again, mostly provided by Cory, who wasn't in the nuclear family—in fact, he was farther out of the nuclear family on Christmas Day than he had been at Thanksgiving. Despite that, he again was the one to fix the meal, to clean up after it, and to provide the glue that kept Stanford Reynolds and his sons from running out into the snow, screaming.

The snow was still there, of course, and now even Steve was prepared to talk about it as something unusual. It wasn't drifting about as much, though, and neither was the Reynolds family. Some issues were coming to a head being resolved, for good or for ill.

Steve had chosen the occasion to make a point to his father and brother again. He had brought a date, and more than that, he'd brought his date's two children. Emily was the mother. She was quite a change from Samantha, who Steve had brought for shock value to Thanksgiving but had not managed to shock. Emily was more domesticated and of the kind acceptable at a doctor's dinner table. The shock Steve was providing was in her children, or more specifically, her two-year-old son, Stevie. She had a four-year-old daughter, Erin, as well, but it was Stevie, as reflected by his name, who was the potential "stick it to dear old dad and brother" point. All of the rest spent the evening looking from the boy to the man of that name and trying to determine whether the family resemblance was good enough to make a call.

In any event, Steve had announced his guest list in time for Stanford and Cory to have added presents for the kids to their Christmas shopping list.

That wasn't the real bombshell, though. The big declaration was that Stanford had added new town librarian Ken Dayton to the Christmas Day guest list and declared that he'd be arriving with luggage—to be placed in the master bedroom. The first that Scott and Steve knew about this was on Christmas afternoon, when Stanford went out in the Cherokee and returned with Ken. Cory remained in the kitchen, fixing a meal. He had been told of the change in sleeping arrangements the day he and Stanford last went Christmas shopping and had kept it to himself. Scott hadn't noticed that Cory had moved to one of the guest rooms at the back of the house, that he'd been reticent since then, and that he hadn't visited Scott's bed since that moment, wanting to stand back and assess the whole situation.

Although he wasn't in Stanford's bed anymore, the elder Reynolds had made quite clear that Cory was still part of the family, and a necessary one, not only in the medical office but also in the Reynolds house, where the young man kept everything ticking along. Cory didn't know what he was going to do, but he had decided that he would stay put until the snow stopped drifting. He didn't admit it even to himself, but what he'd ultimately do depended on what Scott was going to do. He hadn't discussed that with Scott, though, as Cory was terrified at what Scott might say or do.

After dinner, which came early, around 4:00 p.m. on Christmas Day, after all of the gifts had been unwrapped, Cory and Scott found themselves in the living room alone with Emily's children. Scott didn't mind. He liked children and his one regret about the path he'd taken is that he'd never have any. He did notice, though, that it was just he and Cory were along with the children. Using the excuse that he needed to piss, he went up the stairs when he saw that Stevie and Erin had toys they were occupied with themselves and he checked out the landscape on the second floor.

He wasn't that surprised that Stanford and Ken were trying out the master bed for the first time together. They'd hardly been able to keep their hands off each other during dinner and had gone upstairs immediately afterward. That was fine with Scott as long as Cory could manage it. Stanford had looked like he genuinely was in love.

He wasn't that surprised with what he saw through the open door in the guest room Cory hadn't moved to. Steve had his shirt on, but his butt was bare and was clinching and releasing and thrusting forward and pulling back. His butt was toward the door and rising up and out from his hips were a woman's legs, capped with red pumps—the shoes Emily had worn to the party. Her Christmas dress was puddled on the floor below the bed.

Scott wondered what they would name the next one—and if Steve was thinking of settling down—as he came back downstairs. Emily had seemed like the kind of woman who could easily be coaxed into having sex in a respectable doctor's house during a visit—even if the doctor was just across the hall having sex with his new boyfriend.

The day wasn't the disaster it could have been. They managed to survive. And that was largely because Cory kept his cool, provided the meal, stayed away from the master bedroom, and babysat Emily kids while Steve fucked her on the guest bed.

The test for Scott came that night—and he didn't pass. He was in bed, in his room, trying to go to sleep, when Cory came in, naked, and slipped between the sheets. They cuddled and fondled and groped. Scott rolled over on top of Cory, who arched his back, grabbed for the rungs of the headboard overhead, and groaned as Scott slid inside him and fucked him. They fucked raw, barebacking, each wanting to be as much a part of the other as possible. They dozed afterward for a short period and then Cory moved down Scott's body and it was Scott's turn to arch his back and grab for the rungs of the headboard overhead and arch his back, while Cory sucked his cock erect and then came back up his body, sheathed himself on the cock, leaned back and grasped Scott's knees, and fucked himself to a mutual ejaculation.

Later, when they were stretched out against each other and kissing and fondling was when Scott made his mistake. While they were whispering about this and that, including the unfolding of Christmas Day in the Reynolds household, Cory asked, "But what about us? What does this mean about you and me?"

"You know I haven't made up my mind about anything yet, Cory," Scott said. "And I'm not in the mood to talk about it just now."

"Fine," Cory said, rolled away from Scott and off the bed, and trundled back to his new bedroom.

Scott hadn't meant that he never thought about the issue—or about his relationship with Cory. He actually thought about it a lot. He'd meant that that particular time wasn't when he thought they should do it. He thought more about getting sex than about what a sexual relationship might mean—or require.

* * * *

It snowed again the day after Christmas. No one was going anywhere. Steve had made it out the night before with Emily and her kids, but Stanford, Ken, Cory, and Scott were cooped up together, and not everyone appreciated that. The next day, though, the sun came out, the temperature went up, and, for the first time in weeks, there was a hint that the streets of Watertown were paved with asphalt. Stanford, Cory, and Ken went off to work, happy to be fully taken up with routines that kept them thinking about love triangles. Antsy in the house still steeped in tensions and not needed at the garage, Scott went outside and shoveled the driveway and walk—and the walks of the houses on either side of his dad's home.

On Friday, the 28th, Stanford and Ken were awakened with the cry of "Shit, shit, shit" from downstairs. When Stanford came out into the upstairs hallway to see what Cory's problem was, the young man was trudging up the stairs.

"It's Scott," he said. "He's gone. His trunk is packed and his duffel is gone. There's a note on the dining room table saying he may reup for Afghanistan and he'd let us know later where to send his trunk. He was still here, in his room, when I got up to make the coffee. Where could he have gone? Your Jeep and the snowmobile are still in the driveway."