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Skating Through Fog
By Sean Michael
Dude.
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He stepped out of the taxi and looked around, just about as wide-eyed as he could be.
The Olympic Oval.
Him.
Dude.
Chris Fogerty stood there, staring at the building that housed what Troy said was the fastest ice in the
world. He still couldn't believe it. Man, you break a couple records and suddenly your happy ass is in
fucking Canada, your coach promising to come out in a week after meeting sponsors and shit.
Dude.
Fog just looked, staring like the world's biggest idiot, duffle bag in one hand, skate bag in the other.
Okay. Okay. Man. Breathe. You go in, you tell the people who you are. You skate. You find a cheap
place to park it overnight. Him and Troy were playing it tight with the money. No extras. No temptations.
No nothing 'til he could prove he could do this and not fuck it up.
He took one deep breath and then another and then just headed in, pretending as best he could that he
was supposed to be there.
See him.
See him strut.
He marched right up to the chick at the front. "Hey, there. I'm here for the Oval Program. Can you point
me to where I need to go?"
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She gave him a smile, taking in his duffel, his jeans, his blond hair. "Chris Fogerty, right? I know all the
up and comers. Oh, my God." She held out her hand. "I'm such a fan. When you broke those records, I
told my Dad, I said  he's coming to Calgary, Daddy, I bet you anything. All the top skaters come here.
It's the fastest ice in world."
Dude. A fan. Fucking cool. "Yeah? Cool. I'm stoked. Ready." He held his hand out to shake, finding his
best gee-I'm-a-cute-fuck smile.
She shook it eagerly, beaming at him.
A soft chuckle came from the left." Andrea's not a stalker, honest." The guy was tall and built, with dark
hair and blue eyes. He looked kind of familiar.
"Good to know." Fog nodded over and up (and up and up). Man, it sucked being the short competition.
"Oh, I'm not!" She shook her head and that chuckle sounded again.
"Thanks Andrea, I'll show Chris around."
She left and the guy held out his hand. "Jim Watts. Bill Anders asked me to train with you."
"I'm Fog." Oh, dude. He knew Jim Watts' name and everybody knew Bill Anders, didn't they? The
whole fucking world.
"Fog?" Jim grinned, hand warm as it shook his. "That's a cool name. Come on, you want to see the
facilities, I bet. Maybe even lace up?"
"Sure. Yeah." Man. Hell yeah.
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"Cool."
Jim led the way out into the stands. "I always like to get a look at the ice from up here before hitting the
changing rooms. I do it even when I already know the venue." The guy shrugged. "A bit of a ritual I
guess. You probably have some of your own."
"Well, I usually just figure out where the closest area they let the smokers hang is." Wow. Look at that.
People fucking wongold out there.
Jim gave him a surprised look. "You smoke?"
"Yeah." Two packs a day, whether he wanted them or not. They'd been his only comfort, once upon a
time, and he wasn't giving them up.
Jim shook his head. "Man, you ever give them up and you'll be unstoppable." He was given another
look. "I saw your last race. You're good." Dude. Was that admiration in Jim's voice?
His cheeks went all hot and he grinned. "Thanks. I like the rush."
Jim laughed at that, blue eyes twinkling. "Oh, I think we're all speed freaks." Jim's hand landed in the
small of his back, guiding him out of the stands and to the changing rooms. "You come straight from the
airport?"
"Yeah. Troy's coming next week, but he got me a cheap flight on standby."
"You should have checked into your hotel first instead of dragging your bag around with you. It'll be safe
enough here, but it looks pretty heavy." Jim went over to the lockers. "This one's mine. You can grab
whichever one you want, long as it doesn't have a lock on it."
"Cool, thanks. I need to find a cheap flophouse or a campground nearby after practice." He put his shit
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down, dug out his skates, whistling a little under his breath.
Jim opened his locker and pulled out a sweet pair of skates. "You can bunk with me if you want. We're
going to have the same schedule after all."
Yeah, right. Like Troy'd go for that. Coach had given him very strict instructions. "Look, Fog. You go
up there. You skate. You don't go out. You don't hang with the skaters. You don't cause trouble. Kids
with your reputation are just magnets for the media."
"Oh, thanks, but I'm cool." He watched Jim to see how much he was expected to suit up.
"You'd rather bunk in some cheap flophouse than with me?" Jim threw the two piece skin he'd just
pulled out of his locker onto the bench. "You got a problem with me because I'm gay?"
"Huh?" Had he spaced out somewhere?
"Oh." Jim looked sheepish. "Sorry. It's kind of knee-jerk, you know? I'm gay -- not everyone likes that,
and some of them let me know. So if you aren't worried I'm going to jump your bones while you're
sleeping, what's up with turning down the offer of a bed?"
"Oh, dude. I'm cool with you doing guys. I. Well, I'm the one they call Junk, yeah?" He tugged off his
shirt, showed his scars from his years of riding the horse. "Coach says I can't hang with any other skaters
so that the media won't make assumptions and all."
"Wow, check that out." Jim's fingers were warm as they traced his scars. "How long you been clean?"
Fog sort of watched that finger move. "Six years, three months, eighteen days."
Jim's finger slid down to his wrist, held it a moment before letting go. "And I bet you've been skating for
six years, three months and nineteen days."
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"Five years, eleven months and two days. Rehab was a bitch." He grinned over, glad to have it out in the
open. It wasn't a secret. Hell, he was the ISOs fucking poster boy for what not to do.
"Ouch. Good for you for staying clean though." Jim's look wasn't judgmental or anything, just sort of
sympathetic. "Well the offer's open if you change your mind."
"Thanks." Maybe he'd ask Troy if he got a call later. He wasn't sure if these people were cool with
camping out.
Jim gave him a grin and started stripping out of his T-shirt and jeans. "Come on -- the ice here is
golden."
"Fucking cool." He stripped down and tugged on his suit over all the scars and the ink and shit.
"Hey wow, cool." Jim blushed and lowered his head. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I wasn't peeping, really. I just
saw the tattoos out of the corner of my eye and just had to look." Jim had his T-shirt off, muscles firm,
skin smooth. His skin looked warm.
Fog turned and showed them off. There were dozens -- different tribal animals. One for every win.
"Oh wow." Jim's fingers were on the skin of his back, his arms, his belly, tracing them. "These are pretty
cool. When did you get them?"
"I get them after wins. Like a reward." The dude was all about contact. Kinda cool, really.
Jim laughed, hand lingering on the turtle on his lower back. "Seriously? You're gonna run out of room,"
Jim told him as those warm fingers finally broke contact with his skin.
"Only if I'm real lucky." He tugged his shirt on, then started on the skates, humming to the music in his
head.
"It takes more than just luck and from what Bill said, you're the next big thing."
Jim stripped off his jeans and pulled on his skintight pants and then the shirt before sitting next to him and
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working on his own skates. The routine was familiar -- this was the same no matter where you were.
"What about you?" He wasn't like some guys -- willing to kill and be ugly for a win -- but he wasn't nice
to all the athletes, either.
Jim's smile twisted up a little. "I'm... hoping this is my year." The guy finished tying his skates and sighed
a little. "I've been fourth more times than you've probably skated." Jim shrugged. "I get points for not
giving up though."
"Fourth doesn't suck entirely, dude. It's better than working at McDonalds." Dude. Fourth. That sucked.
Jim laughed. "Better than working at McDonalds -- I'm going to have to remember that."
Standing, Jim stretched his arms up over his head and tilted his head from side to side. "This year
though... you stick with me -- I know the ropes and this year I'm gonna hit gold. You stay close enough
the silver's yours."
"I could live with that." So long as he got to skate. That was all. Round and round and round, baybee.
"Yeah, me, too." Jim started out toward the oval, his skate guards clinking against the floor with every
step. "You wanna do a few warm up laps and then race? See where we both are?"
"Sure." He was easy and sorta wide-eyed. Man. This was. It was fuckingCanada , man. A whole
'nothercountry .
Jim's hand slid to the small of his back, guiding him as they skate-walked their way out to the ice. Jim
took a deep breath. "I love that smell."
"Yeah. Just makes everything else go poof."
Jim nodded and took off his skate-guards, tossing them onto the side of the ice. He put up his hood and
skated out into the oval. "Come on."
Fog slid on out, moving nice and easy to warm up, just feeling the slide and drag underneath him, finding
his rhythm, his balance. Jim skated along with him, keeping pace, stretching out now and then, bending
and twisting. Jim's muscles worked under his skin suit, the thick thighs flexing and releasing.
He was given a sudden grin. "What do you think? Can you feel the speed of the ice?"
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"I think I need more, Dude." He could feel it, in his spine, the back of his neck. Just like needing horse.
"Yeah. More." Jim pointed out the break in the panels around the ice where they'd come in. "The door's
our finish line. We do two laps. This time."
Fog nodded, settling down and digging one skate in. "Two laps. Count us off."
Jim grinned, eyes bright and dancing as he crouched down in the starting position. "Three. Two. One.
Go!"
He took off solid, then just let himself fly. The zing of his skates matched the pounding of his blood in his
veins as he took the corner, one hand just touching the ice. Jim went sailing past him on the inside,
crossing in front of him, moving like the wind.
Fog pushed it a little more, a little more, looking to get ahead, get in front. GO. GO. GO.
He managed to slip ahead of Jim just into the second lap. Laughter followed him, then faded, replaced
by the sound of Jim's skates. A moment later Jim was there at his side, the two of them pushing for the
lead.
They fought, neck-in-neck, moving in rhythm as they stretched. He thought maybe he pushed just ahead
of Jim as they passed the finish line, but he couldn't tell if that was before or after Jim straightened, that
laugh sounding again.
"Shit, Fog, you're going to be good for me. Let s go again."
Fog nodded, panting, settling down into his three-point stance. "Let's go."
"Five laps this time." Jim's grin was happy, wide. "Three. Two. One. Go!"
Fog just went with it, moving in sync with Jim for four laps, and then put on the speed for lap five. He
couldn't hear anything but the sound of the air rushing past his ears, his skates moving across the ice and
then he flew by the finish line, Jim right behind him as he straightened. That laugh came again, breathless
this time. Jim was panting, hands on his knees as their momentum kept them going.
He tugged his hood off, hair falling into his eyes. Fuck. Good. Yeah.
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Jim patted his arm. "How do you like the ice?"
"Fast. Good. Fuck. Damn."
Jim stood and turned, skating backward to face him. "Yeah. It rocks. And it just gets faster and faster.
What're your best distances?"
"The three and five. You?"
"Yeah, the same. Part of why Bill thought we'd be a good match, I guess. You want to do a couple
more laps and then go get something to eat?"
"Sure." They started moving fairly easy, sliding on the ice. "Are you from around here?"
"I'm from Toronto originally. I've lived here for the last ten years though. Chasing the dream." The air felt
cooler now that they'd stopped pushing themselves. "What about you? Where are you from?"
"All over. Las Vegas for a while. Atlanta. Dallas. Houston. Wherever I found a spot."
"So the traveling to different venues isn't going to be a problem, eh?" Jim grinned and put on some
speed, giving him a good view of the guy's ass.
Good thing he knew how to appreciate form without getting a stiffie because, dude, no room.
It felt amazing, whipping around the oval; there was a point where you weren't thinking about it, and it
felt like you were flying, light and free, the speed rushing past your ears, through your veins.
It was Jim who slowed first and then stopped at the opening in the boards, panting lightly, face flushed
and eyes bright. "You ready for a break, Fog?"
"Yeah. Yeah." Fuck, yeah. He needed a smoke in the worst way. His legs were trembling, reminding
him that he was on new ice, off his schedule.
Jim stepped off the ice and put on his skate-guards, clacking down the hallway ahead of him. It was
funny how the way to the dressing rooms all looked the same no matter where you were, tunnels beneath
the stands to the warmer rooms lined with lockers and benches, showers.
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Sitting with a groan, Jim started taking off his skates. "I can already tell I'm going to have to push it to
keep up with you." That had Jim grinning. "It's going to make me faster."
"Faster's good, man. Always." His body couldn't decide if it was hot or cold. Maybe it was both.
Jim smiled warmly at him. "Yeah. It is." The man got his skates off and stood, started stripping, revealing
the strong muscles again. Jim's skin was smooth, no tats or scars at all.
Must be nice. Sorta. Or not. Shit, he liked his ink.
He got himself stripped down and grabbed a towel, heading for the showers. They were nice, separate
stalls and all, everything looking new and clean. And there was soap in the dispenser on the stall wall,
too. Jim went into the stall next to him, bright red towel hanging over the wall separating them. Soon the
place was steaming from the hot water, Jim singing softly.
Dude. Maybe he could crash here. Every place had a dusty little storage area that was quiet and
forgotten, just right to curl up and sleep in.
"What kind of food you like?" Jim called out as the water on his side of the wall turned off. The red
towel slipped away and Jim appeared with it wrapped around his middle. "There's all sorts, though we
are in cattle country, so if you're vegetarian, you're going to be hard pressed for a restaurant."
"Whatever's cheap and plentiful. I ain't picky." He lifted his face to the water, got the last bit of soap off.
"Why don't you come home with me, then? I've got leftover steak pie, and you can leave your bag there
without worrying about it. You can decide if you want to stay with me until your coach shows up." Jim
had moved back into the changing room and was drying his hair with the towel. That ass looked even
better out of the skating skin than it had in it.
Steak. Pie.
Okay.
One of these things was not like the other.
"You sure you don't mind, man?"
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Jim shook his head, looking over at him, eyes drifting along his body before settling on his face. "Nope, I
don't mind. I have the room. We're going to be coming and going to the same place, we might as well
share the ride. As for the drug thing," Jim shrugged. "Seems to me that if you're racing you're getting
tested regularly and if you weren't clean you sure as hell wouldn't still be racing."
"Well, dude. That's logical. There ain't dick about the press that's logical."
Jim laughed, swiping deodorant under his arms. "You've got a point there."
A T-shirt went on next and then Jim was pulling on his jeans, seeming easy and comfortable in his skin.
"Seriously though, I'm not worried. In fact it might be a relief, having them ask questions about something
other than why I think I keep missing the medals."
"Yeah, I can see that." He got himself put together. "Is there a spot outside to smoke, man? I'm itching."
"Yeah, out in the parking lot. You'll get to meet Bessie. She's old and she's clunky, but she gets me from
A to B."
Jim grabbed his own backpack and hefted it over a shoulder. "If you stay with me I'm going to ask you
to smoke on the balcony, is that cool?"
"Yeah, sure. Hell, I don't mind walking down the street. I just gotta do it." He put the smoke in his lips,
just chewing on the filter some.
They hit the door and Jim pointed toward the parking lot. "She's the green Cavalier." Jim's glanced at
him, eyes lingering on his mouth.
He nodded, lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, humming. Hell, yes. Life was good.
"So those the new addiction?" Jim asked, leading the way to the car and unlocking the trunk.
His lips tightened some, but see him? See him not snarl and snap? "Once an addict, always an addict."
Jim tossed his bag in the trunk and waited for him to do the same before going around to open the
passenger door for him. "I'm addicted to the ice myself. The feel of it under my skates..."
"I'm a fan of that, too. I like the speed." He smoked quickly, not dragging it out at all.
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Jim chuckled and rolled down his window, started up the engine. "What else are you a fan of?"
"Music. Fries. Ink." Horse. He'd loved being high. Not as much as he loved skating, but close.
"What kind of music?" Jim asked.
The city was pretty, not huge, but not a little town either. Still the sky was blue and huge above them.
"I like it good and loud enough to rattle your bones. You?"
"Oh, yeah. That's good." Jim ducked his head and laughed a little. "But for skating?" There was another
little laugh. "Well I like it loud. Opera. Just blasting. It blocks everything out and you get one of the finales
on and it just builds and builds. You can't slow down listening to that. No matter how tired you get."
"Opera? No shit?" That was either deeply fucked or incredibly cool.
"Yeah, no shit. I figure it's a little twisted, but it works and that's kind of all that matters when it really
comes down to it." Jim flashed him a grin as they slowed and pulled into the parking lot of a little cluster
of three-storied apartment buildings.
"This is true. Whatever works for you." He grinned over. "Even if it's weird as hell."
"Says the man with a tat for every win."
Jim got out and grabbed their bags from the trunk, leading the way to the first apartment on the left. "I'm
on the top floor. Nice little one-bedroom. Don't worry though, the couch pulls out into a bed."
"I can sleep on the balcony, man. I'm really low-maintenance. I swear it."
"The balcony? I'll make you smoke out there, but really, the couch pulls out into a bed. A comfy one,
too. And the really cool thing about the couch? It doesn't get wet when it rains." Jim nodded at one of his
neighbors, taking the stairs two at a time.
Fog chuckled, tickled down deep. "You're a nice guy, man. For real. Thanks."
Jim shrugged. "We're both skaters. We need to stick together."
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The door was unlocked and Jim ushered Fog in, hand at the small of his back. Again with the touching.
He hummed, looking around, just sort of exploring. "Nice place." He had a travel trailer that was paid
for. Not fancy, but mobile and safe.
This place was a little bigger, with thick navy carpeting and light blue tile in the kitchen. The there was an
open bar area that split the kitchen from the living room and he could see the sun shining in from two
rooms down the hall. Had to be the can and Jim's bedroom. Two French doors let the sunshine into the
living room, a surprisingly large balcony beyond them.
Jim dumped his bag by the door and grinned. "Thanks. You should have seen it when I first moved here.
All I had was a futon and a TV. Next came one of those do it yourself bookcases -- you know the kind
with boards and bricks?"
Now that Jim had mentioned it, he noticed several bookcases in the hall and from what he could see of
Jim's room, and the entertainment unit, which filled the wall across from the French doors, was crammed
with CDs, DVDs and books.
"Man, how long have you lived here?" Too fun. He liked a place with personality.
"Almost as long as I've been in Calgary. The first place I was at was a little hole in the wall. I didn't mind
the darkness and noise so much, but when I discovered the bugs in the kitchen, I needed to get out." Jim
shuddered. "I know it's not manly, but I fucking hate bugs."
There was a dark blue couch that mostly matched the rug at an angle to the TV. It had lots of big pillows
on it. A big grey leather armchair sat next to it, little TV table between them. Obviously Jim had more
than just a futon now.
There were skating posters on the wall and a large painting in the hall, of a skater in a red skin suit,
blurred to give the impression of speed. Jim saw him looking at it and grinned. "You know Robbie
Sutter? He did that. He's really good -- better painter than he was skater." Jim headed for the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home. You want something to drink?"
"No thanks, I'm cool." Dude. So normal. Weird. Cool, but weird.
Jim started pulling food out of the fridge. Something that had to be the steak pie, because it looked just
like an apple pie, but it was filled with dark meat and gravy and what was maybe potatoes and carrots. A
four liter jug of milk came out, too, along with some fries from the freezer.
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Jim soon had the bar set for two people, the steak pie and fries in the oven warming up and a big glass
of milk poured for himself. Then he grabbed two bananas and handed one over to Fog before sitting
down on one of the barstools. "So how much training do you usually do every day?"
"I go from six in the morning 'til noon. Then I work the rink until five most nights and then have the
practice ice from six to ten at night." His coach owned two rinks -- one for the kids and one for his
skaters.
"Work the rink? You gonna need a job here?"
Jim munched on his banana, mouth going down a couple inches on the fruit before biting it off.
"I don't know all the rules and shit." Dude, blow the banana. "Coach will tell me if I need to or if I just
need to eat ramen while I'm here."
Jim looked a little horrified, looked him up and down. "Man, you need more than ramen, you're skin and
bones as it is." Then he blew the banana again, finishing it off by shoving the last half of it into his mouth.
"I'm good." Fog chuckled and peeled his banana, offering half to Jim.
"You sure?" Jim asked after drinking down half his glass of milk, throat working. "I'm alwaysstarving
after skating. Like eat a horse starving -- aren't you?"
"Sometimes." He nibbled and grinned. He weighed fifty pounds more now than he had six years ago.
Jim ate his half banana the same way he'd eaten the first one and it was only after he noticed Fog
noticing, that he swallowed and his cheeks colored some. "It's how I always eat 'em, I swear."
"Uh-huh. Sure." Fog snorted and grinned, shook his head. "Dude."
"All right, so maybe I got into the habit by practicing technique on 'em. I always figured if I could deep
throat a banana without bruising it, I was golden for the real thing." Jim cleared his throat. "Which could
be more than you cared to know."
Fog started laughing, deep and hard, tickled as fuck. "Shit, man. You can do that without bruising the
banana, you're more than gold. You could be a porn star."
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"I went through alot of bananas." Jim was laughing, too, eyes lit right up. "My mom knewsomething was
going on, but couldn't figure out what. She bought condoms and left them on dresser." Those eyes
twinkled at him, a wicked curl to Jim's lips. "I think she thought I was doing something else with them..."
"Oh, man. Dude. If you could dothat without squeezing them, you're doing something terribly fucking
wrong."
Jim nodded, laughing hard for a good long minute. Finally he sighed, wiping at his eyes. "Oh, man. It's
funny now, but then? I wasso embarrassed."
"Hey, it sounds like your mom is pretty cool about it, though."
"Yeah, she is. She just wants me to be happy. And that's pretty cool. What about your folks?" Jim's
eyes were really blue.
"I haven't seen them in a long time." Ten years? Eleven? Hell, it'd been a while.
"Why not?" Jim took another swig of his milk. "And if I'm being too nosy, tell me to go to hell."
"Never met my dad, and my mom went to the pen for killing her roommate." He hadn't been there, but
he'd heard. Saw the Child Protective Services folks too, Christ.
Jim's eyes widened. "You're shitting me."
"Nope." See him. See him be the media story of the week.
"Wow." Jim opened his mouth and then closed it again. "That's gotta suck."
"It was a while ago. I'm not stressing it."
Jim reached out and touched his arm, just a brief touch. "Well, I'm sorry."
"Thanks, dude. Thanks." He leaned toward the touch, sort of without thinking.
Jim's hand came back when he leaned, stroking his arm. Jim's fingers were warm, nice.
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"You're welcome." Those blue eyes were warm, too.
Oh. Oh, dude. And also wow. Shit. Troy'd have his balls on a platter if he.
Which he wouldn't.
Jim leaned in a little closer, eyes on his lips now. "I..."
"Yeah." Dude.
Groaning, Jim moved closer, eyes holding his as their lips pressed together. It wasn't a kiss. Well, it was
a kiss, but it was just their lips pressing together, no moving, no tongue, hell, he was pretty sure they were
both holding their breath.
Damn, Jim smelled good.
Like really good.
Dude.
***
Oh, God.
Oh, God, what was he doing?
Jim stared into Fog's eyes, their lips touching. He could still pull back, still stop this and not have it be
really weird.
Okay, maybe not, but he could still stop this before it was a real kiss.
He'd told Fog he wasn't going to jump the guy's bones for fuck's sake.
But Fog wasn't pulling back anymore than he was and it wasn't like there hadn't been a chance to.
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One moment melted into another and then another and Jim thought what the fuck and pressed a little
harder, lips moving against the soft warmth of Fog's.
Fog looked surprised, shocked. Wanting.
Jim blinked and groaned, tongue sliding out to taste Fog's lips. He could taste cigarettes and a hint of
banana and something else, something underneath that. He licked again, tip of his tongue pushing into
Fog's mouth for just a moment. Fog opened up, letting him in, letting him taste. Oh, fuck. That was hot.
His tongue slid along Fog's, and his hand slid up Fog's arm, curling around one bony shoulder. He could
hear their breath push from their noses, the only sound in the quiet apartment. Fog was lean, sharp-boned
against him, heated where their bodies pushed together. He groaned, the sound loud and sudden, as his
thumb stroked over Fog's collarbone.
His prick pushed at his jeans, making sure he knew he liked what he felt, liked Fog.
"Mmm. I... This is probably a bad idea." Fog grinned, nipped his bottom lip a little.
He grinned back, nodding. "Yeah. It probably is." He didn't want to stop though. He had a feeling Fog
didn't either. "We could stop," he said lightly, testing that theory.
"We could, but where's the fun in that?"
He shook his head. "It wouldn't be fun at all." Then he kissed Fog again, moaning as the warm lips
moved beneath his own.
Fog was still smiling as they kissed, still laughing. Damn, that was nice, the laughter filling his mouth,
warming the apartment. He raised his hand again, finding Fog's shoulder and sliding his fingers over it.
God, the man was thin, sharp-boned, almost dangerous.
"Can I touch you?" he asked. Which was probably silly because he was already, but he meant more and
without clothes in the way and probably horizontal.
"Yeah, if you aren't worried about my reputation rubbing off..."
"I'm kind of hoping something rubs off..." He grinned and then laughed. "Oh, fuck. I'm sorry. That was
bad ."
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Fog started chuckling, just grinning over at him. "Yup. You'll have to make it up to me."
"Yeah? I do pretty good at making up." He went in for another kiss, sliding right off his stool and
stepping between Fog's legs.
Fog's hands slid around his waist, holding on, fingers drawing lazy circles. It felt good. In fact it made
him shiver and he moved a little closer, the insides of Fog's thighs pressing against the outside of his own.
"So, we're not stopping," he whispered, before licking Fog's lips, his fingers sliding down to tug Fog's
T-shirt out of his jeans.
"You noticed that." The skin on Fog's belly was slick and hot, felt good on his fingers.
"I did."
He explored Fog's belly carefully, learning the way the tight, hard muscles contoured Fog's stomach. He
pressed their lips together again, tongue sliding into Fog's mouth as his fingers pushed higher. Fog was
eager, tongue brushing against his, caressing him. Just saying hello and good and yes. He hummed a little,
liking that, the way it felt, the way it made him feel. Fog tasted good, under the cigarettes, like a spice he
couldn't quite put his finger on, but he liked it.
He watched Fog's eyes as his fingers found one little nipple, wrapped around it and tugged.
"Oh." The gasp pushed into his lips, Fog shifting, wiggling against him, cock hard in the tight jeans.
His hum was more of a moan this time and he kept playing with Fog's nipple, exploring the way the skin
right around it felt different from the rest of Fog's chest, and the tight little nub of flesh in the middle. Their
tongues kept playing together, the kiss growing deeper as he pressed back against Fog.
"God. I. You feel fucking hot." Fog fucked his lips, the nipple beneath his fingertips tight and hot and
hard.
He groaned, trying to capture Fog's tongue with his lips, trying in vain to suck on it.
Soon he was chuckling, pressing even closer. "You're hot, too." He felt like he should have something
clever to say, but that was all that came out, along with a moan, the fucking motion of Fog's tongue
making his cock throb.
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"Mmmhmm." Fog groaned a little, arching, sliding against him and rubbing.
He cupped Fog's ass with his free hand, rubbing their middles together. Oh, fuck, yes. Fog's cock was
hot and hard through his jeans, just like the nipple he was playing with. His fingers slid, found the other
one waiting for him, just as hard, just as hot.
"You seduce all the skaters you bring home?" Fog nipped his bottom lip, hard enough to sting, to send a
deep ache through him.
He groaned, his hand tightening on Fog's ass. "You're the first."
"Yeah? Why?" Fog rubbed, groaned, moaned deep and low.
"Why what? Why you? Why no one else? Why are we talking instead of making out?" He kind of
blinked at Fog and rubbed their cocks together again, his jeans so damned tight they hurt.
"Uh-huh." Fog reached down, pushed against his prick, his zipper.
He groaned, squeezing Fog's ass and nipple hard as a shudder went through him. "Uh-huh," he agreed,
pushing their mouths back together again. His hips pushed, rubbing his cock against Fog's hand.
Fog's fingers were amazing, slipping in to protect his skin as the zipper came down, sliding over his
cock. Oh, fuck. He moaned loudly, hips moving harder, driving against Fog's fingers. Oh. Oh, Fog was
no stranger to this. God, no. Not with a touch like that, thumb working the tip of his cock.
"Fog." He swallowed and pushed his hand into the back of Fog's jeans, holding onto skin as his fingers
danced over Fog's nipple, over the sharp, wiry muscles of Fog's chest. He could hear Fog's stool
creaking as they moved together.
"Uh-huh. 's cool, dude. Good. Real good."
He nodded. Yeah, it was. Too good to worry about whether that chair was going to creak right apart,
too good to worry about getting horizontal. He slid his hand down along Fog's breastbone, popped open
the top button of his jeans. God, he only hoped his touch could make Fog feel half as good as Fog was
making him feel.
Fog's cock was hard as stone, wet-tipped and burning against his fingers, long and thin as the rest of
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him.
"God. Fuck. Shit." The words were jerked out of him. He moaned, fingers getting slick as they slid
across the tip. "Shit. Fog."
"Uh..." The stool tipped, sending Fog stumbling backward, fingers sliding off his cock.
Jim reached out, one hand sliding around Fog's waist, the other grabbing an arm, steadying Fog, pulling
Fog up against his chest.
"Uhn. Hi." He got a grin, Fog stretching up to lick his lips.
"Hi," he whispered, chuckling a little. God, he was goofball. But he was a goofball about to get laid, so...
He pulled Fog a little tighter against him and started walking back toward the couch. He reached out
with his tongue, sliding it against Fog's. Fog hummed, winked and walked, following right along. The
couch hit the back of his legs and he stopped, went down, bringing Fog along with him. It was a good
thing Fog wasn t heavy because he landed square on top of Jim.
Laughing breathlessly, he got a hand between them and spread their jeans open, their cocks just leaping
out to meet. It was Fog s hand that circled them and began a quick, hard jerking. It had been long
enough since he d had anything but his own hand that Jim knew he wasn t going to last very long.
 I... He met Fog s eyes and saw the understanding there. He thought maybe Fog felt the same way.
And then he didn t think at all, because it felt just right just when he needed it to and his hips bucked
hard as he came, spunk splashing up over Fog s hand.
 Your turn.
Fog nodded, head jerking, and so was his hand. Then there was more heat and the sharp smell of come
filled his nose again.
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Fog collapsed down onto him.  Dude. That was... dude.
Grinning, he nodded, petted Fog s ass almost absently.
 Yeah it was.
 Think I ll stay right here a second. Fog was panting like they d just skated the five.
 Take your time. Take all the time in the world.
And maybe by the time Fog had caught his breath, Jim would have figured out what to say to convince
the guy to stay right where he was.
Skating through Fog
Copyright © 2005 by Sean Michael
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information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / August 2008
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
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