Next Evening
The night had been perfect. Almost like a dream. A very pleasant, very dirty, very hot, very wet dream. And it was real. Actually, it was unreal. It'd been nearly forty years since Joseph had felt this way.
Rhys made a fantastic pillow. Joseph was disinclined to move at all, especially when his fingers brushed though his tousled waves. He pretended to still be asleep, just to see what Rhys would do.