Come Hell or High Water | mxm

2.2

2.2

Sunlight poured golden over the peaceful farm. Grasshoppers croaked amongst tall, yellowing grass. Hot air was still, the sky overhead a deep, endless blue. The trees of the windbreak hung limp, exhausted, not a hint of breeze stirring wilting leaves. The rich scent of damp earth rose pleasantly from the lush green garden, moist and alive, sharp against the dusty odour of hot, dry wood.

It was stifling in the house, so Sam and Gord were out on the back porch where they could at least hope, however futilely, for a gust of wind to cool them. They had spread ragged old towels over the peeling boards to protect against splinters and the bent heads of nails. A jug of lemonade, half-empty, sweated on the table. Bare skin was still slick with sweat. The furry buzz of a bee hummed somewhere nearby.

Gord leaned against the hot metal legs of one of the chairs, gleaming guitar braced against muscular thighs. Sam lay on his back on the rumpled towels, head pillowed on his palms, eyes closed, listening to Gord play the song he had recently finished. His warm, deep voice resonated pleasantly in Sam's chest, the perfect accompaniment to the achingly joyful melody he plucked from the strings of the guitar.

Sam found himself smiling, wide and content. When the last brilliant note had faded into searing quiet, he opened his eyes and met Gord's bright green gaze.

"It's a love song," Sam observed.

"Sure is."

"It's beautiful."

Gord made a soft sound of thanks.

"Written for anyone in particular?" There was teasing in Sam's voice.

Gord smiled gently at him. "Can't say for sure."

Something fluttered in Sam's belly. He wasn't sure if he liked it. "That's awfully cryptic," he said lightly.

"It's a cryptic sorta emotion," Gord agreed, eyes twinkling.

Sitting up, Sam leaned in for a deep kiss to cover the quivering discomfort. Between them, the guitar shifted with Gord's motion, his touch greedy. Sam pulled away with an eyebrow cocked at his obvious reaction.

"Ready to go again already? You make me feel like an old man," he joked.

Gord laughed, deep and pleased. The guitar was quickly put aside.

Sense followed breath, lost between the touch of lips. Gord eased Sam down onto his back with firm hands on narrow hips. A hot palm caressed one slim golden thigh. Sam adjusted his knee obligingly, eyelids fluttering over dark eyes, breath quickening.

Rough towels scraped against his back. Lips licked fiery on the soft skin of his belly, and Sam smoothed palms against tautly muscled shoulders as his arousal became obvious in turn.

Breath scalding against Sam's stomach, Gord said huskily, "You make me feel like a teenager, city boy."

On the other side of the house, the rumble of an engine expanded.

They didn't notice it at first, as Gord pressed hungry lips against smooth skin, as Sam panted and twined his fingers around the back of Gord's neck.

Tires crunching on gravel at last caught their attention, and Gord lifted his head. The roar of the engine cut to silence again. A truck door slammed, metallic.

Sam looked up at Gord, wide-eyed, nails digging into his shoulders. "My clothes are inside."

With reluctance, Gord withdrew, settled himself against the chair again. "Wrap yerself in a towel. I'll distract 'im."

"But you're naked, too."

Gord grinned at him. "More distractin', then?"

A man's voice rose in a shout. "Kelly boy, where you at? I see Chen's prissy little car here, you gotta be around."