A gay story: Storm Humid weather had always reminded Brian of sex. Moist, humid, hard to breathe; like he always felt afterwards. Everything soaking wet, but it hadn’t been raining. The air was thick enough to see. Brian loved and hated this kind of weather; he felt like the weather was reflecting his post-coital moods. Everything was slow and sluggish, but his heart was still racing, like the low beats of thunder in the distance on a humid pre-storm day. The sweat beaded on his lip; the moisture condensing on the glass windows he passed. The quiet yet determined thumps of his boots hitting the pavement; the cracks of lightning in the distance. The thunderstorm itself was the climax of a humid evening, and Brian was always disappointed when the humidity faded away without an explosive ending. The disappointment and pain of it raced through his body whenever it happened, but he knew he would not be disappointed this time. The lightning striking in the distance assured him of that.
The streets were empty, the people anticipating the coming storm, and heading for shelter. Brian was oblivious to it, and stalked into the alley. It was dark and there were bottles on the ground. The thunder was coming closer, and Brian knew he would soon be seeing the display of the lightning and thunder joining together. Their dance of crackling light and explosive sound, the primal and primordial mix that instilled fear in the hearts of the ancients. Brian leaned against the brick wall, and waited for the lightning to catch up with the thunder. He knew it would be soon, it always was. And as it started to drizzle, he felt the touch of fingers, light upon his exposed neck. Soon…a tongue of lightning met the solid wave of thunder, and he felt the touch on his neck. The awe as the lightning webbed across the sky, the fingers untucking his shirt. The pain as the lightning struck something, and the fingernails scraped up his stomach. It wasn’t raining, but it soon would.
The cold lips pressed against the column of his throat as the ground shuddered with the crashing of something heavy. The wind started to whip, but all Brian could feel was the fingers on his hips, the lips on his collarbone, the thunder rolling through the sky. The sky began to leak its load, not steady, not trusting itself, slowly. Faster and faster until he thought he would cry out to the lightning overhead with the pressure he felt. It was growing, it was becoming more and more powerful, but it would not rain, and the lightning crackled with anger as the pressure let up slightly. The thunder subdued, and Brian shuddered with the pain of the pause in the relentless waves of pleasure and thunder.
He fought to keep his eyes open, looking into the cloudy depths of the eyes in front of him. The pale streaks of lightning fanning out around the face, and the sweat beaded on his brow. And Brian looked at the storm gathering in front of him, the storm raging above him, but it was a dry storm. There was no rain, and Brian needed it to rain. The fingers wrapped around him, the face lowering. The wet warmth of the man in front of him closed around him, and Brian groaned, watching the lightning colored streaks of hair bobbing below his waist and knowing it was streaking overhead.
The teeth scraped, and Brian cried out, knowing it would rain soon, god just rain already. The rain did not start slowly, it did not build up, the brain in the storm circling his body, his essence, could not know that it was about to rain, but when it did, Brian felt the release of the clouds and himself, and screamed into the dark sky with its webs of lightning, and the cracks of thunder. The ground shook, and the storm in front of him pressed against him so he would not fall. His knees were weakening, but the storm was not done. The man in front of him roughly turned Brian around to face the wall, and Brian knew what was going to happen, as did all the people in the deep purple city. The sky screamed as the tornado touched down, and the sky lightened to yellow.
The tornado took everything in its path, and left behind destruction and small fires that would eventually be put out by the rain. The screaming, the thunder; it was a train coming at Brian head on and he couldn’t avoid it. The lightning touched deep within him, and he screamed with the wind, growled with the thunder, and finally swore like the human he was as the rain came down faster, putting out the fires, filling the earth completely.
And the tornado passed by, the men left alone in the dark alley as the people began to emerge from their houses to survey the damage. Brian turned to face the man, but he wasn’t there. He was gone, gone with the storm. He would be back, he always came back to him when it was humid, and there was lightning flirting with the thunder. He would be back, and Brian would be waiting for him.