Survivors

This story takes a long time to get to the actal sex part. If you're looking for a stroke-story, you'd better choose some other story.

Avalanche. A-va-lanche. A r-syllable-word that rolled easily off the tongue. A beautiful, poetic word.

But there was nothing poetic about the great mass of snow and ice that came falling down on them right now, with a deafening roaring sound. The group of skiers screamed, but the sound of cascading snow drowned all other sounds.

The snow was heavy. The weight, the great mass of it, and the speed with which it fell, all these factors together pressed them down, knocked their breath out, and buried all of them under a thick, white layer.

Several minutes passed, and the avalanche died out. A soaring bird watched from afar how the landscape once more became still. A few more minutes passed. Then there was a movement under the snow, a white pile grew, and a black-haired head emerged out of the icy prison. A boy, no more than 18, gulped desperately for air; coughed, wheezed, and panted. With great effort, he pushed his shoulders up, freed his arms, and crawled out of the snow's grasp. He lied on his back, drawing deep, shaky breaths, then rolled over, got up on his hands and knees, and stared at the ground in front of him. Gasping for breath, he began to dig furiously in the deep snow. Nothing... nothing.

A desperate sound welled up from inside of him, and he dug shallow holes all over the place. Nothing. He moaned, a long, loud wailing sound, and shoveled snow and ice away with his hands and feet.

There! Something dark within the white! Encouraged, he continued, and saw a leg under all the snow. He dug around it, freeing it enough for him to grab on to it and pull its owner towards him. The person in his arms was heavy, and the boy had to kick more snow away to manage to free his friend out of the snow's hold; it was as if it didn't want to return the bounty it had claimed. Finally, the lifeless body was in his arms. He turned it over, and felt his throat grow thick at the sight of the blue face and the bulging eyes.

Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn't have time to indulge in sorrow. He laid his friend down and continued digging, looking for another survivor. His hands were numb with cold, but he didn't care. 8. There had been 8 of them. That meant that there were 6 more people buried under the white masses...

He found two more dead bodies. He felt how the fear of finding his friends too late changed into an even greater fear, that he would be the only one who had survived, the only living person among 7 dead people, the only one, the only one..!

He was close to panic, and he cried loudly as he dug through the snow. Another!

A wave of heat rushed through his blood when he realized that this person was moving. Alive! Alive!

He dragged her out of the snow. She coughed violently, and threw up. He patted her back, held her shoulder, not so much to support her as to be sure that she was really there.

She wiped her mouth and looked around. The sight of the dead bodies made her vomit again. He patted her arms, his hands were shaking. She turned around, fixed her eyes on him. She looked dizzy.

"Where are the others?"

He let out a whimpering sound, and continued digging, but she stopped him.

"Your hands... here, take my gloves!"

He shook his head.

"If you freeze your hands more, you're gonna lose them!" she insisted. "Here! We'll take turns using mine!"

He saw the logic in her words, and they helped each other look for the remainder of their group. They found all of them, and they were all dead.

"Snowstorm."

He pointed at the dark clouds above them. The wind was growing stronger, and the snow was hitting their skin like tiny pebbles.

"We need shelter!" she shouted at him. "We have to dig a hole under this!"

She wasn't sure he understood what she was saying, or if he even heard her at all. His eyes were glazed and distant. Although the thought of going back underneath the massives of snow and ice made her stomach cramp, she shoveled her way in under it, dug a tunnel under the snow, freezing her hands to a dark shade of purple doing it.

He realized what she was doing, and helped her. It was hard to dig without shovels, and the storm as closing in on tem. They clawed with numb fingers at the ceiling of the tunnel for them to it up straight, and they kicked the leftover snow out through the tunnel, until the cave inside the giant pile of snow was large enough to fit them both. They collapsed against the walls, listening to the roaring wind outside.

He took the mittens off and wanted to give them to her. Instead of taking them, she crawled up to him, sat close to him, and opened her jacket. She took his hands and put them under her sweater, in her armpits. He couldn't feel the heat of her body. His fingers were totally numb.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was weak and coarse.

"Warming your hands," she said. "Mum taught me that's what you do in a situation like this."

"Your mum taught you..?"

"She's a Swede," Cecilia said. "She knows all about snow and cold and winter."

"Are you cold too?" he said.

She didn't answer him, just opened the zipper of his jacket, and put her own hands under his arms. The cold made him jerk.

They sat absolutely still for a moment, not talking, not thinking. Slowly, their hands thawed up, causing the skin to itch and sting.

She removed her hands and fumbled with the zippers of their jackets. She managed to zip them up together, causing them to sit no more than "2 away from each other, enclosed in a cocoon.

She took off her scarf and wrapped it around his head, making him look like an old Russian woman. She pulled her arms out of the jacket, and he copied her movements. She put her arms around his waist inside the cocoon, holding him tight, borrowing the heat of his body - and giving him her own.

When he felt the warmth growing between them, he put his arms around her, and she put her legs over his, to sit closer to him.

He leaned his head against her shoulder, but she shook him gently and made him sit up straight.

"You mustn't fall asleep," she said. "Chau..!"

He didn't want to look at her, didn't want her to see his tears.

"Chau..."

She freed one hand and turned his head towards her, made him look at her. She dried his tears away, gently. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. At first, he didn't move, didn't respond. Why did she kiss him? They had been in the same class ever since they were kids, and not once in these 11 years had she showed any interest in him. She looked him in the eyes, as if seeking approval, and when he didn't protest, she kissed him again. He closed his eyes and concentrated on her tongue, that touched his. His arms tightened around her back. He pressed her against his chest, and his fingers created little black and blue marks on her back. What did it matter that they had never been interested in each other before? What did it matter what would happen later? At least for now, he could refuse to think, refuse to feel anything but desire. He forced himself to be no more than his body. She was touching his short, spiky, black hair, caressing his neck, holding him close to her, kissing him with a raw hunger he hadn't experienced in any other girl before.

Outside the tunnel, the snowstorm was once again covering up the dead bodies of their friends. On the inside, they did their best to block out all thoughts of death and fear.

Her hand moved down to his trousers, searched under the layers of clothes, and her fingers wrapped themselves around a slim, feverishly hot, hard dick. He moaned in her mouth as she moved her hand up and down his shaft. He wanted to touch her, to feel her wet heat against him. He fumbled with her thick ski pants, she helped him untie the cord that kept them tight, and he put his hand insde her panties, searching. She winced at the brutality of his hands, took pity on the inexperienced boy, and guided him to the right spot, moved his hand for him, showing him how to please her. Only when he was doing it right did she continue stroking him.

Her hand slid up to the round head, down the shaft, back up, and she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, licked the inside of it, and felt her body jerk as he touched a very sensitive spot. She forgot to move her hand as she gave in totally to the touch of his finger. She bent her legs, pulling herself closer to him, her thighs trembled, and the pleasure was concentrated to one spot, one isolated area. Her orgasm was short and intense, sending heat through her blood, making every limb feel warm. She winced, and opened her eyes to find him staring at her, enjoying watching her come. She locked her eyes with his, stared into his slanting brown eyes, and went back to stroking him. She could read in his eyes and hear in his heavy breath that she was doing it just right. He held her close, shut his eyes, found her lips, and cried in her mouth when he came, spilling his thick fluid over her hand.

She wiped it off on the snow and dried her hand on her pants.

They each held each other, looked into each others' eyes, afraid to fall asleep if they closed them. They didn't speak. Words meant thinking, and thoughts had a way of sneaking out into the snow, out to their dead classmates. What a way to spend a winter holiday... Besides, what could they say to each other? It was better to let 18 years of indifference get wiped out by curious hands, hands that moved under shirts and pants, hands that explored and discovered, hands - and mouths - that did their best to pass the time until a rescue team would find them.