Arcade had to admit, even at night snow was still ethereally beautiful- somehow it managed to maintain its sparkling, other-worldly white color even in the blackness of dark.
Boone leads Arcade to a small clearing of snow just past the edge of town. Safely obscured by night, and trees, the clearing is privately hidden from any curious eyes that might be patrolling Jacobstown after hours. Snow blankets the area, lush and thick as a fluffy carpet, and the crystalline snowflakes glitter prettily in the moonlight. It's almost romantic, Arcade thinks to himself. That is, until Boone opens his mouth and announces: "I'm going to show you how to make a snow angel."
Arcade turns to Boone, looking at him incredulously. "A snow... what, now?"
Boone crunches through the untouched snow and Arcade follows close behind, carefully stepping in the imprints left by the sniper's boots to keep snow from leaking into the ankles of his shoes. "Snow Angel," Boone repeats seriously, as if Arcade confusion stemmed from poor hearing, and not complete unfamiliarity with the term. "I figured, you've never seen snow, everyone should make at least one in their life." He turns around and looks at the doctor expectantly.
Arcade rubs at his neck, the wool gloves scratching against his skin. "Um... you go first?"
He can't see Boone's eyes through his opaquely tinted glasses, but he's sure that the other man is rolling them. "It's easy," Boone insists. "I'll help you. Just...lay down."
Arcade looks at him like he's crazy. "You want me to lay down. Right now. In the freezing, freezing snow." Boone nods and, maybe it's the cold getting to Arcade again, but he decides that fine, he will go along with this madness. "If I don't survive this, tell my wife I love her," he sighs dramatically, stretching out his arms like a legion crucifix and letting his body tip backward.
Arcade lets out a resounding "oomph!" as his back collides with the snow, cushioning his fall but barely. He feels himself sink several inches into the snowfall, and his pants are instantly soaked. "Oh, I think I get it now," he grouses as he involuntarily begins to shiver. "It's called a snow angel because it's so cold it kills me, right? I'm an angel now?"
Boone swings a leg around Arcade's prostrate body, kneeling down to rest solidly in the taller man's lap. "You're cute. Now. You need to wave your arms up and down, like this-" Boone stretches his arms out to his sides and flaps them up and down, and Arcade can't help the peel of laughter that tears from his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that," he chuckles, "can you do it again?" Boone frowns, immediately dropping his arms and crossing them self-consciously across his chest. "Just do it," he replies sternly. So Arcade obeys, pushing his arms back and forth in the snow, cleaving out two identical holes at his sides. Boone actually smiles. "Good. Those are the wings. Now you have to do the bottom."
"The bottom?" Arcade questions, letting his now-soaking arms go slack. "Like a tail? Angels have tails?"
"Not a tail, it's like a... a dress thing. I guess. Hmm." Boone scratches his chin in thought and Arcade makes an indignant noise. "A dress? Why does my angel have to wear a dress? Can't he just be a boy angel?"
Arcade bites his lip in delight when he sees Boone's jaw muscle twitch. That only happens when he really gets to the sniper. "All angels wear dresses. Or something. I don't know. It's a god damn angel shape, Gannon, why is everything so hard with you?"
"Okay, okay," Arcade pacifies him. "So how do I make the bottom shape?"
Boone visibly calms. "Move your legs back and forth. Like...spread them, then close them again. Kind of how you did with your arms."
"Spread my legs, huh?" Arcade teases. "I see." He shifts his hips upwards into Boone, rolling their pelvises together as he spreads his legs wide, pushing snow out of the way. Boone inhales sharply, and Arcade can feel the tell-tale press of hardness through the other man's pants, digging into his own swelling member. Boone grinds down against Arcade, mouth falling open. "Now back together," he commands, and his voice his barely above a whisper.
Nuclear Winter 3
Boone leads Arcade to a small clearing of snow just past the edge of town. Safely obscured by night, and trees, the clearing is privately hidden from any curious eyes that might be patrolling Jacobstown after hours. Snow blankets the area, lush and thick as a fluffy carpet, and the crystalline snowflakes glitter prettily in the moonlight. It's almost romantic, Arcade thinks to himself. That is, until Boone opens his mouth and announces: "I'm going to show you how to make a snow angel."
Arcade turns to Boone, looking at him incredulously. "A snow... what, now?"
Boone crunches through the untouched snow and Arcade follows close behind, carefully stepping in the imprints left by the sniper's boots to keep snow from leaking into the ankles of his shoes.
"Snow Angel," Boone repeats seriously, as if Arcade confusion stemmed from poor hearing, and not complete unfamiliarity with the term. "I figured, you've never seen snow, everyone should make at least one in their life." He turns around and looks at the doctor expectantly.
Arcade rubs at his neck, the wool gloves scratching against his skin. "Um... you go first?"
He can't see Boone's eyes through his opaquely tinted glasses, but he's sure that the other man is rolling them. "It's easy," Boone insists. "I'll help you. Just...lay down."
Arcade looks at him like he's crazy. "You want me to lay down. Right now. In the freezing, freezing snow." Boone nods and, maybe it's the cold getting to Arcade again, but he decides that fine, he will go along with this madness. "If I don't survive this, tell my wife I love her," he sighs dramatically, stretching out his arms like a legion crucifix and letting his body tip backward.
Arcade lets out a resounding "oomph!" as his back collides with the snow, cushioning his fall but barely. He feels himself sink several inches into the snowfall, and his pants are instantly soaked. "Oh, I think I get it now," he grouses as he involuntarily begins to shiver. "It's called a snow angel because it's so cold it kills me, right? I'm an angel now?"
Boone swings a leg around Arcade's prostrate body, kneeling down to rest solidly in the taller man's lap. "You're cute. Now. You need to wave your arms up and down, like this-" Boone stretches his arms out to his sides and flaps them up and down, and Arcade can't help the peel of laughter that tears from his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that," he chuckles, "can you do it again?" Boone frowns, immediately dropping his arms and crossing them self-consciously across his chest. "Just do it," he replies sternly. So Arcade obeys, pushing his arms back and forth in the snow, cleaving out two identical holes at his sides. Boone actually smiles. "Good. Those are the wings. Now you have to do the bottom."
"The bottom?" Arcade questions, letting his now-soaking arms go slack. "Like a tail? Angels have tails?"
"Not a tail, it's like a... a dress thing. I guess. Hmm." Boone scratches his chin in thought and Arcade makes an indignant noise. "A dress? Why does my angel have to wear a dress? Can't he just be a boy angel?"
Arcade bites his lip in delight when he sees Boone's jaw muscle twitch. That only happens when he really gets to the sniper. "All angels wear dresses. Or something. I don't know. It's a god damn angel shape, Gannon, why is everything so hard with you?"
"Okay, okay," Arcade pacifies him. "So how do I make the bottom shape?"
Boone visibly calms. "Move your legs back and forth. Like...spread them, then close them again. Kind of how you did with your arms."
"Spread my legs, huh?" Arcade teases. "I see." He shifts his hips upwards into Boone, rolling their pelvises together as he spreads his legs wide, pushing snow out of the way. Boone inhales sharply, and Arcade can feel the tell-tale press of hardness through the other man's pants, digging into his own swelling member. Boone grinds down against Arcade, mouth falling open. "Now back together," he commands, and his voice his barely above a whisper.