Billy nodded. He had been tempted to give Goodnight another even if he didn't want it. There was tension and longing and need, all wrapped up together, and the last thing either of them needed was a suspicious soreness distracting them from the business at hand.

He kept going with two fingers for a moment, leaning up a little to kiss Goodnight's ribs, up his chest, his neck--now Billy was sitting up, Goodnight still ensconced on his lap, and he kissed him. There were times he wished he could leave marks, visible for others to witness. This is mine, those marks would say. I was here.

Sometimes he left marks, but they were hideable things. Goodnight was too much in love with his presentation of propriety to allow the hint of a bruise above his collar; Billy was too wary of the repercussions to allow one above his. It worked. Tonight, he pressed a kiss, and then his teeth, just under Goodnight's collarbone as he sank a third finger into him.