If thunderstorms had a heart, then Brody would've bet his bottom dollar that this one's ticker was as black as the Devil's asshole and colder than his witch-wife's tit.

Great crashes of thunder pealed in rapid succession, rolling over the mountain like shockwaves. He could feel the dirt under his feet vibrate with each earsplitting boom, as if the earth itself trembled in fear of the storm's wrath. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, slicing open the heavens with brilliant, sizzling bolts. Ozone was thick on the air, and the shorthairs on Brody's arms had stood up more than once when a bolt kissed the ground nearby.

Lordy, but he didn't want to be up on the mountain tonight. The forecast had been ominous, calling for rain, hail, wind, and nearly every other bit of foul weather nature could sling at a man. He should've taken Will's advice and hunkered down at the ranch instead, like any wrangler with half a brain would've done. But then again, no one had ever accused Brody of being more than a few brain cells short of stupid.

It was really Will's fault that Brody had insisted on spending the night on the mountain. The night had started out like any other Saturday night. Cowboys had come back down from riding fence, hungry and tired and looking forward to a good meal and a better jug.

Brody had been sitting in the bunkhouse with the rest of the boys, bellyaching about supper (Cook had been in an especially vicious mood, having served up a mess of catfish and beans that had tasted more like sheep dip and cow pie than actual vittles), and pouring whiskey down their throats, when Will had come in.

Will was Brody's closest friend, and a county deputy. It wasn't unusual for him to stop by the bunkhouse when he was through making his rounds, and tonight was no exception. He walked in as if he owned the place, grabbed a dishful of slop from Cook, and made himself at home. Tall and lean, he shoved his long legs under the table and dug in.

Elbows bent as shots of smooth whiskey were poured down parched throats. Conversation was of the normal variety - a little cow-talk, a few off-color jokes, and a whole lot of bragging about sexual performances. The usual. Then one of the boys mentioned that the radio was predicting that the storm that was brewing was going to be a nasty one.

'Course, that had been Will's cue to dredge up the old story about Brody having once wet his pants during a exceptionally violent storm. He'd conveniently left out the fact that Brody had been six years old at the time, and that it had happened the year his father had taken him whitewater rafting on the rapids along the Colorado River. Not to mention that Brody had related the story to Will in confidence, during one of his and Brody's notorious benders.

Regardless, once Will had spilled the story, Brody couldn't get a word in edgewise to defend himself. The boys had jumped at the chance to tease Brody about what they perceived as his bladder control problem, and his ears had grown hotter and redder with each poke at his pride.

Finally, Brody had had enough. Jumping to his feet, swaying from the whiskey and jabbing his finger in Will's face, he'd slurred that he'd show Will a thing or two by spending the night up on the mountain, storm or no storm.

Turning his back on Will and the boys, he'd stalked out of the bunkhouse, saddled up his horse and set out, carrying nothing but a pup tent and bedroll to ward off the gathering storm.

Now, Brody shivered inside the tiny tent, huddled under a blanket as the wind whistled and rain and hail pelted the thin canvas. It was cold, wet, and he was about as miserable as a man could get.

Plus, he had to pee like a fucking racehorse.

A particularly loud crack of thunder boomed, rattling both his bones and his composure. Scrunching his eyes shut, he waited for the wind to rip the tent from over his head, or a tree to crash down on top of him.

Instead, a familiar voice growled, "Shove over, Brody. My ass is growing icicles out here."

Cracking open his eyes, Brody peered out from under his blanket. "Will? What are you doing up here?"

"What do you think? Came up to drag your sorry ass back down the mountain," Will growled. Brody scooted over as much as he could in the small tent, trying to make enough room for Will to get his entire six-foot, three-inch frame inside and out of the wet. "I swear, I must be as big a moron as you, Brody. The storm's winding up to be a blue-balled bitch, and here I am, stuck with you inside an oversized hankie on the side of a fucking mountain."

"Nobody asked you to come fetch me back," Brody grumbled. Will had a thermos of hot coffee on him - Brody could smell it, but he'd rather die of exposure than ask for a swig. "How'd you find me in the dark, anyway?"

Will grunted. "Didn't take Sherlock Holmes to track you, you big doofus. You done left a trail as big as the freeway all the way up the mountain. Beside, I always get my man."

"Your man, huh? Who are you…the fucking Mounties? Besides, I wasn't looking to hide," Brody sniffed. "If'n I did, you wouldn't have found me so dang quick."

"I could find you blindfolded, friend."

"You couldn't find your ass with two hands and a flashlight," Brody shot back. "Are you gonna give me a swallow of that coffee, or are you gonna hog it all up for yourself?" he asked, relenting. He couldn't help it - the coffee smelled like heaven.

"My, ain't you being prickly. Nobody told you to come up here, you know."

"They was laughing at me."

"Since when do you care what those boys think? Besides, they didn't mean you no harm, Brody." Will passed him a tin cup full of piping hot, black coffee, which Brody accepted gratefully. It would go a long way to heating the chill out of his bones. "You should know by now that they just flap their gums to feel the breeze between their molars."

"That doesn't make it right. What are you going to do now, Will? I ain't coming down until morning." Brody was many things - stubborn chief among them.

"What am I going to do? What are you going to do? You can't stay up here, Brody. There's a twister watch out."

"I don't give a rat's ass. I said I was staying, and I'm staying."

"You are the most stubborn, mule-headed, obstinate, bull-headed jackass I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!" Will declared, snatching his tin cup back.

"Takes one to know one, I reckon." It was all Brody could do not to laugh. He loved it when he got Will's dander up. His eyes would simmer with a heated anger that was sexier than spit, in Brody's humble opinion. His lips would thin, maybe sliding back to show his even white teeth, and his muscles would bunch up hard under his shirt.

Just thinking about Will's muscles made Brody's cock wake up and crow. "I gotta pee," he said, flinging off his blanket. He edged past Will toward the triangular opening of the tent.

"Hold up there, son! You can't go out there - that storm's likely to blow you into next Tuesday!" Will cried, grabbing Brody's arm.

Brody wrenched his arm away. "I got to pee, Will. If'n you think I'm gonna give you another 'Brody wet his pants during a storm' story, you got another think coming!"

"C'mon Brody! Forget about that, will ya? Jesus, we was only kidding you down there. They know you were only a kid when it happened," Will shouted. His voice was almost drowned out by the thunderous storm. "Just stick your dick outside and pee, but keep the rest of you in here. I'm serious, now. That wind is blowing something fierce."

"Shit, you worry more than a mother duck," Brody grumbled. But he did as Will suggested, knowing that it would be foolhardy to venture outside of the tent. As scant protection as it provided, it was better than nothing.

Sighing with relief, Brody whipped his cock out and let loose, sending his stream outside of the tent through a crack opened in the flap. He gave it two shakes (his father's voice rumbling in his memory, "More than two shakes is just playing with yourself, boy), and turned back inside as he tucked it away, but froze when he saw Will's face.

Will was staring at him - or at his crotch to be exact, with a hungry look in his eyes.

Lordy, Brody hadn't seen that look in Will's eyes in a long, long time. He'd thought the few times they'd… well, he'd thought that was over with now. They'd both been drunk, and alone on the mountain, and as randy as a pair of horny toads…

Just like they were now.

Oh, boy.

"Got something on your mind, Will?" Brody asked. His eyes hooded as he dawdled over sticking his cock back in his pants. He let his fingers trail over its length, feeling it fill and harden.

"You keep playing with it like that and it might give me ideas," Will growled. He rubbed his hand over his crotch, licking his lips, his eyes never leaving Brody's dick.

"Yeah? What if I say no? What if I say that you deserve to have your balls swell up like hot air balloons for telling the boys that story about me tonight?" Brody teased. He was giving himself a full-out wank now, fisting his cock, slicking it with the drops of moisture that seeped from the purpled head.

"You wouldn't do that, Brody. You're just as horny as me," Will replied, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his pants and whipping his own dick out. Thick and every bit as hard as Brody's, it stuck straight out from the thick patch of black curls that peeked from Will's open fly. Brody's breath came faster as he watched Will slide his hand over the smooth shaft, rubbing his thumb over the head.

"And if'n I do? What are you going do about it?" Brody said, almost challenging Will. Good God, his balls were drawing up tight already. Another few tugs and he'd be spurting all over Will's boots.

"Maybe I'll handcuff you. Resisting a police officer," Will grinned. "Or maybe I'll hog-tie you."

"Ain't got no rope," Brody said. His voice sounded almost disappointed.

"I can use my belt," Will replied, his smile growing wider. His hand moved faster over his turgid flesh, the ropy muscles of his belly clenching.

"Oh, Lordy… " Brody whispered, gritting his teeth.

"And once you're hogtied, your sweet ass will be mine," Will groaned. "Fuck it fast and deep until you see the error of your ways." He bared his teeth as he came, shooting white in an arc toward Brody.

"Oh, fuck!" Brody cried, coming hard over his fist. Damn, if Will didn't do it for him every time. Talking to him dirty in that raspy voice of his, pretending to be a hardass…

Thunder cracked again, but the storm was already dying. Still and all, it might be safest if they stayed the night on the mountain, Brody thought. Could never tell when another storm - or something equally unpredictable - might pop up.

He really wouldn't mind spending the night on the mountain with Will. Maybe one of these days they'd actually get around to trying some of the stuff Will talked about.

Maybe - if Brody was lucky - it might be tonight.

~END

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