sled and hot-buttered rum from cicirossi

Derek was no snow-bunny. In fact old man would be closer to the mark with all the kids running around the ski resort and he shook his head at himself, wishing his travel agent had been just a little more honest about what a man could expect. It wasn’t even that he was that old, but if one of these kids was over twenty-five, he’d eat his hat, silly pom-pom at the top and all.

Of course this morning being amongst all these pretty boys had made him feel young and studly, which would explain, maybe, just why he’d lost his mind and agreed to get on a sled behind one particularly cute young man. Damn, he’d had to snuggle in tight to that ass, arms wrapped around the kid’s middle as they’d gotten ready at the top of the hill.

Then down they’d gone, flying like they had wings, shooting down the mountain like the hounds of hell were on their tails. The wind had whistled past his ears, snow spraying off the edges of the sled and hitting his face. They’d bounced over moguls, hanging in the air like they were going to go into orbit.

And when that sled had slowed, stopped and he’d managed to crawl off, that kid had given him a grin and said “lets go again”. And lord help him he had. Twice more.

His tailbone was cursing him out now, his fingers stiff with the cold. He’d settled into the first empty chair near the fire he could find as soon as he’d made it into the lounge, feeling about a hundred years old.

“Hey, man!” He looked up, finding his sledding companion standing in front of him with that grin that had already gotten him into so much trouble. A steaming mug was handed to him and he took it, breathing in deeply. Oh, hot-buttered rum. He just might survive this vacation.

He took a sip and nodded as the heat slid through him, warming him up from the inside.

“Thanks,” he murmured, raising his mug in a salute.

That smile lit up the kid’s face again and Derek grinned, meeting it, matching it. Maybe he wasn’t so old after all.