Angels In The Snow

`I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.
Just like the ones I used to know;
Where the treetops glisten,
and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow.'
White Christmas (Bing Crosby)

Angel picked up a handful of snow and packed it into his other hand, rounding it into a snowball while peeking warily around the side of the house. The snow down the back of his black leather coat was cold as it melted against the heat of his body and right through his Mama Mia! tee shirt. Trickling fingers of winter down his back, making him shiver. It was fine, though, Angel was going to get revenge. Mike couldn't stay in his car forever.
Angel called out from behind the side of the house, without presenting any body parts as a target.
“Mike! You can't stay in there, Mike. Mom is waiting for us!”

No answer.
Angel pushed his head cautiously past the brick corner of the house, the late afternoon sun in his eyes as he tried to see through the windshield of the Lotus. Damn, the sleek car looked empty. Where the hell was Mike? Angel pulled his head back and tried to think. Where would HE go if he were a jock with a death wish?
Angel leaned around and then moved slowly out from behind the corner. He stepped into the bushes along the front of the house, taking cover, hugging the walls as he sneaked carefully behind the snow laden shrubs, listening intently for his boyfriend. The street was so quiet, it was as if the previous night's snowfall, so unusual this far south, had blanketed and muffled everything in fluffy, frozen whiteness. Angel's breath came out as cloudy puffs in the crisp, gray, electric air.
A rose thorn caught in his jeans and he swore softly in Spanish. He pushed the snowy bush aside and kept moving carefully toward the front door. Mike had to be on the front porch, hiding around the edge of the column, past the bushes. Angel was going to get in as close as he could before launching the missile he held in his hand, compacting it down tighter as he crept along for greater effect on delivery. Mike seriously needed to learn a lesson. Angel grinned to himself as he reached the side of the porch and paused.
Angel gripped the white mass tightly as he moved slowly around the brick column of the porch; snowball poised to detonate, preferably down Mike's shirt. Angel snickered to himself. He held his hand up to his face like a gay games baseball pitcher, then arcing back his arm as he moved into the open in front of the porch. This was one time where throwing like a girl wasn't going to be a problem. Angel was finally in the open; the porch was a clear target at short range. Revenge!
The porch was empty.
Just as Angel said “Shit!”, he felt the second cold snowball of the day hit the back of his neck like a slap.
Madre de Dios!” Angel yelled, shocked, as he whirled around and nearly fell against the brick wall of the porch. He caught himself with his right hand, almost losing his grip on the snowball in his left.
Michael stood behind him, grinning like a loon. The bastard had gone all the way around the house, Angel realized. He'd clearly underestimated Mike. The football player reached down to his feet and scooped up another handful of snow.
“Oh, no you don't!” yelled Angel as he charged at Michael. The slender drama student hit the varsity wide receiver square in the chest, knocking them both down into the snow, Angel on top. Naturally.
Michael squirmed under Angel, who kicked apart Michael's legs, pinning him down firmly in the light south Texas snowfall. Michael was laughing hard; Angel's face was mock serious as he looked down at his miscreant boyfriend. Angel leaned in close.
“There is SNOW all inside my shirt, Mike!” Angel complained.
Michael choked back his laughter and gazed up into the beautiful, dark features above him. He could see the amusement in Angel's black eyes as he fought to keep his expression stern.
“Yeah, so?” Michael asked, his voice smug.
Angel growled and pushed Michael's arms above his head and held them flat with his right hand. Michael yelped as his bare fingers made contact with the snow, then groaned as Angel ground his hips into Michael's own, creating a confusion of sensation. Michael looked up into Angel's sparkling dark eyes and smiled.
“What if I just say I'm sorry, baby?” Michael asked him, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
Angel didn't answer, didn't smile in return. Watching his immobilized prey thoughtfully, Angel pushed himself again into Michael's groin. Michael felt himself responding, despite the cold, despite the neighbors, and wished Angel's mother wasn't home. Michael would love to get his snow plowed but would probably have to settle for licking Angel's candy cane. Not that he was really complaining, of course, Michael admitted to himself with amusement.
“Mmm, baby, damn. We're gonna melt all the snow if you keep that, ah, up.” Michael said in a low growl.
Angel didn't answer but leaned down and pressed his cold lips to Michael's. Michael opened to Angel's tongue, the cold snow at his back forgotten as he kissed Angel deeply, their tongues sliding hot against each other inside the warmth of their joined mouths. The weight of the slighter boy on top of Michael was arousing; he loved it when Angel pinned him down even if it was in the damned snow. The cold snow was actually kind of hot, now that Michael thought of it, and he wished they didn't have to worry about the neighbors. He'd love to make angels in the snow with his very own earthly angel.
Michael gasped as he felt Angel's hand on the waistband of his jeans.
“Damn, baby, what-” Michael began but hushed when Angel kissed him again. Michael wriggled under the other boy, loving the feeling of capture as he surrendered to the hot kiss from Angel's cold lips. Angel's left hand fumbled with Michael's fly, slowing unzipping and slipping onto the warmth of Michael's skin under his briefs.
Michael gasped as the cold skin of Angel's hand wrapped around his slowly lengthening organ, somehow the frigid feeling was arousing with Angel pressing down onto his body. Michael groaned into Angel's mouth as they kissed. Closing his eyes, his mind centered on his groin as Angel stroked him to life. He felt himself harden in Angel's hand, their bodies pressed hot together in the cold air.
Angel's lips left his and brushed against his ear.
“I love you, Mike.” Angel whispered, “Just…remember that I love you.”

Michael murmured affirmatively as he felt himself grow closer, surprised that he could out here in the frigid front yard. The fact that anyone could see what they were doing, coupled with the cold itself, was somehow rushing him towards a faster finish. He felt vulnerable with his pants unzipped in public, or as public as the yard could be, and the feeling was exhilarating, liberating, deliciously naughty.
The pressure of Angel on his body was intensely erotic, he always loved it when Angel covered him completely, holding him down, growling like he was now into Michael's ear. He arched up into Angel's hot hand, moaning, thrusting faster as Angel sucked on his earlobe. He felt Angel's tongue touch fire inside his ear and gasped aloud as he broke free, spurting into Angel's hand, inside his briefs, between their bodies, his thighs tensing as he shuddered and thrust once again upwards.
Angel nipped his earlobe as he finished, Angel's sticky fingers coaxing out the last. Michael opened his eyes slowly and looked up at his boyfriend's elegant, angular features. Angel rolled slightly to the right, slipping his right hand out of Michael's briefs, into the snow, and propping himself up on it. He smiled down at his boyfriend, the picture of devoted teenage love.
“I want you to remember this moment forever, Mikey.” Angel said sweetly…and then slipped the snowball in his left hand down into the front of Michael's unzipped pants.
Michael's scream could be heard for blocks.
Angel jumped up and off of Michael. Michael leapt up right after him, struggling with coat, pants, snow-filled underwear, and swearing loudly. Angel took refuge on the porch, watching Michael dance around, trying to shield his open pants from any onlookers while removing what he could of the snow on his balls. He finally zipped up and yanked down his jacket over the wet spot on the front of his jeans. He glared at Angel, who gave him an innocent smile.
“Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Mike?” Angel observed, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
Whatever Michael was going to say in response, and it was going to be colorful judging by the expression on his face, was deflected by the front door opening to reveal Angel's mother in faded jeans, her dark hair in a loose braid over her shoulder.
“Boys? Time to come inside!” Mary called. Angel grinned and joined his mother inside. Michael watched them disappear, wondering just what in hell Angel thought he was going to do about his wet, cold, sticky pants. But then he grinned, remembering a moment ago.
Oh, what the hell, Michael thought. It was a good excuse for a hot shower on a cold day with his hot-tempered boyfriend.
Michael went to the door and opened it, ready to follow Angel and Mary into the house. He stopped and looked down the row of houses, unaware that he was smiling.
The silent street gave way to the dusk, driveways darkening, shadows lengthening across the snowy white lawns. Up and down the sidewalks, Christmas lights came on like fireflies, lighting up eaves and rooftops with glorious, garish purely American color. Chimneys rose up above suburban homes, dark against the early night, inviting entrance by red-suited sleigh drivers with a tendency to corpulence.
But who needs Santa Claus when your Christmas wish already came true?