It's a cool night, a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves just starting to grow on old, wide-spreading branches. Stars dot the sky and the moon is little more than half full; it hangs white and round in the darkness. At this late hour there's almost no sound or movement outside except the rustling of leaves and the occasional car driving by.

The street is lined with trees, shading small front lawns and cars parked in driveways. This isn't the sort of neighborhood where children's bicycles and toys lie scattered around, nor are there family-friendly minivans and SUVs hulking in parking spots. The cars here are nondescript sedans, some pricier than others, most shining softly in the occasional light from a streetlamp.

One house has a light in an upstairs window, shaded by the curtain but not completely dimmed. The window itself is open slightly, just enough to let in the soft breeze. A stronger gust of wind blows the curtains open and the picture inside becomes clearly visible to anyone tall enough to look.

The light itself comes from a lamp on the bedside table, its soft yellow glow the only illumination in the room. It isn't enough to show anything other than the bed and the outlines of solid furniture placed around the bedroom, but the bed itself is clearly lit. The sheets are cream-colored, a hint of gold due to the light, in contrast to the dark blue comforter tangled in a heap at the foot of the bed.

The sheets look to have been pushed out of the way as well, as do the pillows, which lie haphazardly across the wide mattress. In the middle of the bed are two men, bodies entangled and slicked with sweat, moving together in a rhythm all their own.

The man on the bottom has dark hair, plastered to his forehead. His hands grip the sheets and he has his head turned to the side, panting for breath. There is a bite mark on the back of his shoulderblade; his knees are pulled up under him as he tries to get leverage.

Above him is a silver-haired man, arms braced on either side of his partner. He is kneeling behind the brunet, moving inside him strong and sure. His eyes are closed, his mouth half-open.

"Please...oh God, please..." The brunet's voice is hoarse, ragged, desperate with lust and need. He arches his back as his partner thrusts into him, pushing back onto the thick cock driving into his body. "God..."

His partner makes no sound save for the groans he cannot control and the slap of skin on skin as he moves. He leans down, biting the brunet's neck, his tongue licking the sweat away.

The brunet moans, his whole body radiating submission, a plea for anything, everything, just something to push him over that edge. His left hand tightens in the sheets and his right reaches down under his body, wrapping around his cock.

"No," the silver-haired man says, almost a growl. It's the first word he's spoken. "No."

The brunet whines in frustration but his hand moves back up to the sheets, knuckles white with tension where he grasps the sheets. "Please..." He's openly begging now, body twisting into each thrust. "C'mon, please, I can't--"

"Mine," the silver-haired man whispers against the brunet's throat. "You come when *I* say."

"I can't--" The brunet's head falls down, his chest heaving as he pants for air. "God, *please*..."

"When I say, Tony. Not before."

Tony moans helplessly, each breath a desperate sobbing gulp for oxygen. The room itself is cool but Tony's skin gleams with sweat and his face is flushed, the color spreading down to his collarbone. "I need--please--"

His partner bites his earlobe, the pain just enough to bring Tony back from the razor's edge. "I'll let you come," he whispers, voice rough. "But not until I'm ready."

By this point Tony has lost all semblance of control. He writhes under the weight of the other man, fingers clawing at the sheets, whimpering and whining and gasping out incoherent pleas. All it earns him is a low rumble of laughter and a sharp nip to his shoulder.

"So good," his partner breathes against his damp skin. "So good for me. Tight and hot and willing to let me do anything to you, just so I'll let you come. And you're so desperate for it right now. So close. But you won't come, will you?"

Tony is past the point of rational speech; he can only shake his head, half-sobbing in frustration.

The thrusts into him are sharper, harder now, his partner close to losing control. He licks the line of Tony's throat, teeth digging in just behind Tony's ear. "Mine," he growls softly, just before he thrusts into Tony's body one last time and comes, breathing hard.

Tony's head hangs down between his arms, his face streaked with sweat and tears. "God, please," he moans. "Please..."

His partner pulls out of him in one swift movement that leaves Tony groaning. "Turn over," he says.

Tony wastes no time in obeying, his body tight with need. "Please..."

"So pretty when you're desperate," the silver-haired man says, not without affection. He leans down and licks the head of Tony's cock, sucking it into his mouth. Tony keens, low and long in the back of his throat, trying with every bit of willpower he has left not to move.

His partner releases his cock and looks up. "Come for me, Tony," he says, right before he bends his head and swallows Tony down.

Tony nearly screams as he comes, his body snapping taut with the force of his orgasm. His arms are flung out to the sides and his head is turned to the side, tears caught on his lashes. He slumps back against the bed, shuddering and trembling with the aftermath.

He lies there, limp and exhausted, unable to move as his partner kisses his lips gently. "I'll be right back," the man promises, stroking light fingers down Tony's cheek. Tony can only grunt in acknowledgment.

When his partner returns, it is with a warm washcloth which he uses to clean them both off, gently and carefully. He tosses the cloth into the hamper and lies down next to Tony, reaching out to hold him. "You needed it bad, didn't you," he murmurs into Tony's hair.

"Mmm." Tony is still not quite capable of speech. He presses closer, automatically seeking the warmth and comfort of the body next to him. His partner smiles fondly and kisses the top of his head.

Outside, the night is cool and clear, stars shining faintly above. No one is there to watch the leaves rustle in the soft breeze. No one hears the gentle sounds of afterglow, the whisper of cotton against skin as the men crawl under the covers for bed, one still groggy and the other holding him safe.

If anyone was looking, they might see Tony curled up against his partner, one long arm thrown over him instinctively. They might catch a glimpse of the blue comforter tucked around both men, of silver hair and dark against the cream colored pillowcases.

And then they might see nothing at all, as the lamp is turned off and the only light in the room is the faint light of the moon outside.