Billy remained sprawled, watching Goodnight take off his boots, his trousers. When he leaned over, Billy twined an arm up and across his shoulders. He let himself be admired and touched, another one of those quite, contemplative moments that they shared. This, he had found, was as important--more important--then anything else they did. This, to him, proved he was different than anyone else they might take to bed, alone or together. That Goodnight would be so enamored of him, after all these years and all the things they'd done.

He turned his head and kissed the inside of Goody's wrist, sighed gently. His fingers tripped over Goody's ribcage, down to his hips. He dragged him in close, arched to meet him. It had been days, but it felt like months. Billy was never not hungry for Goodnight.