We work half the day, find nothing, and call it quits when the rain gets too heavy. Back in the cabin, we build a good fire and attempt to dry out. Once again, clothes are hung by the fire while we sit in drawers, bundled in blankets. There’s not much talk.
When Chet dozes off in a corner, Dieter starts giving me the eye and, seeing how I’m bored, I give it right back. He moves next to me and gets a hand into my blanket and onto my dick, where he proceeds to work me to a good come. I then do the same for him, though I’d rather put it to him proper. As he’s unloading, his eyes are fixed on mine, blazing blue, if that’s possible, but that’s how it seems. It’s a look I sense I’ll come to covet.
Later, when Chet has fixed us another good supper, Dieter looks outside. “Rain softens things,” he notes. “Hides man’s debris for the moment, distracts us from his bottles and cans and shit.”
“You getting poetic on us?” asks Chet.