"Because you wanted to go skiing?" Sala dropped his ski handles down and sank onto the small bench, suppressing a shiver. "Fuck, I'm cold." Lawrence sprawled next to him, taking up most of the space. Not that Sala minded at the moment, because, hell yeah, body heat. "Why're we out here if all you're gonna do is bitch?" "Not bitching." Sala's teeth chattered and he snuggled -- surreptitiously, mind -- closer to Lawrence. "Having fun." If fun could be called freezing to death on a mountainside of pristine snow. "Yeah right, tell me another." Lawrence wrapped an arm around Sala's shoulders, squeezed gently. Mmm...warmth. "We should head back." "End of the slope's not too far. Just having a bit of a breather." Wasn't that Sala was out of shape. Really. He could navigate these white bitches with one ski. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But only a bit. "Gonna break your bleedin' neck, you are. Wiped out pretty hard back there." "Yeah." Sala rubbed a glove over the top of his hat and watched as a small mound of snow fell onto his lap. Looked like one of those snowglobes. "I'll be alright." "Stubborn." Sala's grin was wide. "You bet." "Alright, then." Lawrence answered the grin with one of his own, then stood and offered his hand. "Let's finish this run and head to the lodge for a pint." "Only if they'll serve it to me hot," Sala replied, tugging Lawrence off-balance and against his chest. "Whoever heard of warm beer?" Lawrence asked, just before warm lips closed over his. Eh, right. Who cared about warm beer when there were warm lips and just -- mmm, yeah, tongue. Tasting faintly of peppermint. "We keep this up, we may not make it back to the lodge." Lawrence made it sound like a bad thing. Which it definitely wasn't. Sala stepped closer, starting tugging on Lawrence's zip. "Ever made snow angels?" "'S'at what we're calling this?" Long, blunt fingers dipped under Sala's track pants. Christ, but Lawrence was talented. Very, very talented. "Um --" Right. Point. He had one. Maybe. "Snow angels. Um...ohgod...we...um...lie down..." "Lying down sounds good." Sala was flat on his back the next moment, snow seeping under his jacket and shirt, cold along the back of his neck. Lawrence followed, covering him from head to toe and...um. Heat. Sala wondered why the snow wasn't melting, wondered why he wasn't melting. 'Cause, Christ... His hand wormed back under Lawrence's briefs, wrapped tight over Lawrence's cock, started moving in controlled, slow strokes with an ease born of familiarity. "Yeah," Lawrence rasped, thick fingers swallowing Sala's length as his hips rocked forward. "God, you're good at this..." Sala grinned, head canting back to allow Lawrence's lips to traverse his neck. "You give me enough practice." "Whenever --" Harsh groan "-- you want." "Talking --" Slight shift, seeking heat, friction, more of um, that "-- too m-much." "So...shut me up," Lawrence groaned, then plundered Sala's mouth with his own. Not a problem.
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