The room was normal, for a nighttime room. It was as it always had been—bed on one side, cot on the other, clothes and personal effects over every surface. The moonlight near the window-side was held at bay by thin, generic-brand curtains.

The occupants of the room were normal, too—Dominic on the cot, and Billy on the bed. They did this all the time, usually when Dom had drunk too much and couldn't drive home. Or if he didn't feel like calling a cab. Or if he didn't feel like saying goodnight to Billy, because leaving left a lonely spot at the base of his throat.

Tonight was one of those nights that fit the third category. Dom was lying awake on the lumpy cot, thinking about how annoying it was that cots were never as good as beds; they squeak all funny when you move and are far too springy; trying to be a bed, but never quite getting there.

He pretended to be philosophical and employed a parallel, comparing his relationship with Billy to a cot, and the relationship he might have with Billy—if Billy suddenly morphed sexuality—to a bed.

That's not very good, though, is it, he thought. And then he mentally deleted the idea.

He shifted once, sighed, and sat still. Bloody cot. He listened over in Billy's direction, picking up that familiar pattern of sleep breathing he had come to memorize. He closed his eyes, deciding to try for sleep again, but found it impossible.

And then the steady background noise of Billy's breathing changed. It went silent for a moment. The bed gave a tiny protest to movement from its occupant. Billy sighed. He was hot and uncomfortable and drifting in and out of erotic dreams that were nearly relentless. Thoughtlessly, his fingers settled on the slit up the front of his boxers.

Dom tilted his head towards the bed's direction very subtly, trying to make it look like he was asleep and just shifting around. He knew Billy was awake. But he had no idea what was going on under Billy's sheets.

The very faintest sound of moving cloth came with a second sigh, and Billy's breathing became checked and guarded; trying to sound normal, but not at all like sleep breathing, and coming out in a different rhythm that hinted at his mind being somewhere else.

So Dom stopped pretending to be asleep, too. And over the light rushing of his blood through his ears, Billy noticed. But neither did anything to acknowledge this. Billy tried to fight off how strange it felt, jerking off with someone in the room, even if that someone could never admit to lying there listening or not. He had never gotten himself off in front of anyone before.

He closed his eyes and fell into a black void of listening, trying to figure out where Dom's eyes might be in the darkness of the room. But he didn't look over. One of them had to look away, or the whites of their eyes might be visible to each other—and then they'd have to...

But no. So Dom shuddered, embarrassed and excited as the flush of warmth that came from listening to nothing more than Billy's funny breathing pooled in his belly. Wondered why Billy was awake, knew that Billy must know Dom was awake, too, and wondered why he kept on going. Didn't care, finally, because the longer it went on, the more obvious it got. The hotter it got. The faint change in breathing became these tiny, nearly unnoticeable noises that were no more than fleshed out breathing sounds. But they were unmistakably sexual.

At the same time it was kind of unbelievable and dream-like; didn't make sense, really, for them to be lying there, listening so hard they were giving themselves headaches, listening to something that could be anything in the dark. Funny because Dom had never listened to another guy getting himself off.

And Billy was becoming gradually aware of the show he was giving. He had never done this sort of thing, but that wasn't really bothering him. What got to him was that he could see the stiff outline of Dom's body on the bed, could see his head tilted, but couldn't see where he was looking—and for fantasy's sake, he pretended Dom was staring straight at him.

But overall, for them both, it was the fact that this shouldn't be happening and that it was, or that it didn't make sense that it was happening but it was. It was random and sudden and rather stupid. But it was also hot and secretive and silent and sexy.

And a wee bit pervy, Billy thought, working a combination of his first four fingers casually but steadily around his erection. It was annoyingly hot under his pyjamas and he wished he could kick the blankets off—but of course, that would become a show he wouldn't have the option of declining credit for. And he didn't exactly know how to categorize what they were doing. Because it was indeed a two-way thing, this listening.

Dom could only try and stay still and silent while Billy went on; he listened to the way his friend's breathing raced and then calmed, skipped and then settled. He could practically feel the heat from the other side of the room. He fancied he could feel the tension in Billy's leg muscles or the quivering across his belly. He could feel the silky-hard cock between his fingers.

Why's he doing this? was Dom's next thought. But that sort of got lost in the mix, too, because Billy's chest started to stall and start jerkily with inhales and exhales, and Dom could see that under the blankets, and his thought process stopped. His own hand was slowly massaging over the bulge inside his boxers, but he was so intent on listening to Billy that he forgot to take it farther.

And oh, when Billy came—Dom's heart stopped in his chest. He was surprised that something so vague and unclear and giving him only the barest hint of sexual happenings could be so fucking hot. Because when Billy came, all he did was get quiet, and the blankets rustled just a little and the bed made a single tiny creak and Dom could see the drawn-bow tightness in Billy's legs. And then Billy simply sighed, and there was the tiniest noise of fingers on flesh, and three or four deep, post-orgasm breaths to steady him out.

Dom knew he would go on looping that sequence in his head as a masturbation soundtrack for weeks. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever heard.

Billy felt exposed and damp around the edges—because he could hear Dom's wavered, desperate listening. And it was over, and what was he supposed to say or do? There was nothing outward about the situation that called for him to do anything. And he felt stupid. And horny again. And stupid.

But the moment the lights were flicked off and the stage was set just as it had been on that night, the situation seemed to unfold and familiarize itself with the boys. Dom fancied the bedroom walls listening and saying Ah, here where are, again, all of us—isn't this cozy?

It was strange how the few days between that night and this night seemed nonexistent all the sudden. Dom felt as if they'd never left the room, and here they were, round two, so to speak—the sense that something was about to happen crackled sharply in the air.

The only difference was the rain. It was drizzling mistily outside; just enough to give an extra layer of background noise but not enough to drown out the sounds that might come from the other side of the room. It made listening a bit more challenging, but Dom was all set.

Half an hour ticked by. Dom wasn't even going to start pretending he was asleep this time. He could get away with just lying there. Nothing against the rules about just sitting still, was there? So, okay. No lines crossed at all.

But Billy was just lying there, too. They weren't talking. Weren't pretending to be asleep. Breathing check? All normal, Dom's ears told him. He continued to stay still, blinking lazily up at the ceiling.

He noted the coloration of the room: white-blue-black. White walls, pale blue over the bedding, black over the furniture and over their bodies. Nighttime room again. All set to play nighttime games. Why wasn't Billy doing something? And then the term "game" poked him in the head again. And he thought, feeling just a little more than silly, that maybe...it was his turn.

Billy was in a similar state of idle thought. He thought it was funny how every-day-Dom and on-the-cot-across-the-room-Dom were two different people. He hadn't been able to get it out of his head, though, that Dom had his face turned towards him that night, that Dom was watching and listening and had rolled over and fallen asleep very obviously right after Billy was finished.

It never even registered in Billy's mind that he was expecting a show. That it was Dom's turn, so to speak. That if they were to share this, in a reciprocal sort of way, that it could be a game. A silent game that they wouldn't have to talk about. A game they would play because they hadn't yet figured out a way to express the attraction that had been there since day one.

Dom closed his eyes. He felt the light patter of the rain as if his skin had turned inside out and was laid under the weeping sky for just that reason. It made his body tingle in the most acute way. He listened; heard Billy lying there, hands idly playing with the edge of a blanket, eyes shut.

You want me to touch myself the way you would touch me, don't you? Dom thought.

And he didn't need justification to think that. Because he really didn't think it—it sort of thought itself. Suppose common sense made a guest appearance, because Dom would never make that kind of leap on his own.

Maybe that was the first criteria of the game.

The game, Dom thought. Right. Exactly.

Before he could decide to do it or not, he was shifting around obviously, trying to get attention. And then he resettled, fingers creeping under the waistband of his boxers, his head falling at a different angle on the pillow.

Were this any other situation, he would be pissing himself laughing by now. It was so dramatic and silly. He felt like a kid, dealing with this hesitance and skirting-around-the-truth sort of interaction with Billy. But the other part of him sort of liked the subversive, silent way of it. Liked the suppressed warm shudders it sent through him. Liked not having to do or say anything for it to happen.

Billy was thinking about how different it felt to be on the "receiving" end. He felt more exposed, because he had nothing to distract himself from his blatant straining to hear Dom. Dom at least could get wrapped up in the stroke of his palm; but Billy was too transfixed to move. He couldn't touch himself, even though he wanted to, even though he was getting steadily harder listening to Dom's breathing.

So he let his body handle the steady rushes of heat, moved around a bit every time Dom made some tiny noise, and strained to see movement on Dom's cot. And when he did finally catch the light rhythmic rise and fall of the blanket about midway down Dom's body, his cock throbbed painfully in response.

Oh, yeah, Dom...keep on like that, boyo, you just keep on...

Something that neither of them figured into the game: Dom was a sight more vocal than Billy when getting off. So, instead of just sexual breathing, Dom made these squashed breathy whimpers in the back of his throat that played hell on Billy's body.

He was so wrapped up in it that his world shrunk around them; the fate of the planet was born and then died on each noise. And everything in between the two was the waiting for the next noise, the hoping that there was more, the surprise when it happened again; though it was technically inevitable, though he had been waiting for it to begin with.

Dom could feel Billy's eyes on him. He couldn't bear to actually look over, for fear of making some brand of eye contact, even in the dark, but he wasn't of the mind to do anything. Squeezing and working himself was endlessly better when doing it for Billy's attention. And when he came, finally, he shuddered so hard the cot squeaked, and he let out a massive sigh that was more than obvious.

A quick, subtle clean-up that involved rolling over to do so brought his face towards the window and away from Billy's side of the room. He closed his eyes, feeling the tug to sleep, and hearing Billy's breathing even out.

Just before falling asleep, he decided that his turn had come off rather nicely.

So he stood there in the doorway for a while, wondering silly things, like the cot being pushed out the window by a determined Billy. He wondered if it was a challenge. Or if Billy had done it just to set the stage for a more fantastic show during his turn. Either way, Dom knew he was staying. And maybe that was really why Billy had done it. He knew it would make Dom curious enough to play again.

He figured he'd have to set up a sleeping bag on the floor or something. But he'd be closer to the bed. Able to hear and see so much more. Was that why Billy had done it? Was Billy getting desperate? Or was this just ten times more calculated than anything they'd done before?

Whatever the answer, Dom was set for round three. He was feeling quiet roused by this bold move of Billy's.

Quick and casual, passing in the hall:

"What happened to my cot?"

"Something happened to your cot?"

"It's gone. Have you let someone filch my cot?"

"No. Cleaning people must've taken it for a wash."

Billy nodded cheekily, patted Dom on the shoulder, and strode off.

Wanker, thought Dom. And then he stared at Billy's backside until the Scot disappeared.

"Whassat for? Are we going camping, then?"

Dom stubbed his toe on the umbrella stand and gave a muffled "oof" while trying to reclaim his fallen sleeping bag.

"M'cot's gone."

"And the bed's shrunk as well?"

"Eh?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "As if I'd let you sleep on the floor, you tit."

Dom dropped the sleeping bag again. "Well."

For a split-second, a serious look flitted across Billy's eyes. Gone just as fast as it came.

"Plenty of room for two," he said, voice a bit lower than usual. And then he was gone.

Dom fell over onto his sleeping bag the second he was alone, repeatedly thunking his forehead on it while grimacing.

Since when was Billy in control of the rules?

In the shower, Billy laughed gales of silent laughter so hard that his chest ached. The look on Dom's face when he told him they could share a bed was worth any amount of embarrassment he might go through later.

He had no idea, really, what was going to happen once they got in bed together and the game took over. Feeling that Dom was just as attracted to him as he was to Dom made it easier. Recalling Dom's breathy-warm orgasm made him look forward to more mutual encounters.

But he liked this evasive way of them coming together. He liked making it a game. Not only did it make it easier, but it was more he and Dom's style—to play at something and only give in at the last minute. If their whole life as friends had been like that, it made sense that their transition to more than friends would be just the same way.

And of course, there was the undercurrent: Gonna touch him. Gonna see his face up close when that orgasm comes over him. Gonna touch him. Gonna kiss that pretty mouth, touch those wide shoulders, feel that weight. Gonna touch him.

"Bring it on," he muttered in a thick American accent.

The shower was still going. All the better for Dom to scope out a spot and make the room as much his as he could before Billy came in. He felt he needed that edge. He claimed a half of the bed for his own, flicked off the lights, and fixed a pair of headphones on his ears. Turned up the volume to ten, took a deep breath, and tried to forget that round three was about to start.

By the time Billy finished—and he took his sweet time, too—Dom was dozing lightly between songs, eyes closed to the music. He only felt Billy's presence when the bed dipped under his weight. Dom opened his eyes, immediately caught up in the view of Billy with just a pair of shorts on, his hair spiky and wet. He knew that the combined scent of Billy's soap, Billy's shampoo, and fabric softener coming off Billy's sheets would stick with him for years to come.

And the half-nudity? Yeah. That was a memory, surely.

Yep. Lost the edge. Completely flew off the edge. The edge? No longer in New Zealand. The edge has taken a holiday to Morocco, where I'm sure it's having ripping good times without me. It's taken up there with Sanity, who went off the night we started this blasted game.

In his head, Billy heard a little bell sound. A scantily clad woman carried a sign that read "Round 3" across the landscape of his mind. He suppressed a giggle by managing to keep it to a smile and sprawled under the blankets, settling neatly on his back.

Dom tipped the headphones back and then off, setting his CD player on the nightstand. Rude to listen to music when a bit of conversation might happen, yeah? Surely they couldn't go to sleep in the same bed with a little bit of conversation to ease the awkwardness, then?

Neither of them spoke. Fifteen minutes or so ticked by. Eyelids dipped with semi-tiredness. Bouts of anxious waiting kept them opening their eyes again and again. Dom pondered the silence. Wondered if maybe Billy didn't recognize the "it's your turn" rule.

So he pretended to go to sleep. Seemed the most logical thing to do. He rolled over towards the window side of the room and did a pretty fantastic job of imitating the breathing of someone who's sleeping.

With that reprieve, Billy shifted the sheets down around his hips, and played his fingers around his lower belly for a few moments. He flicked his gaze at Dom, let his eyes travel the length of Dom's cotton-clad body under the sheets, and sighed. His hand slipped into the slit of his boxers, freeing his cock from its confines, and wrapped around the warm, soft skin.

Dom went on pretending to sleep by some automatic reaction in his brain, but his thoughts raced ahead. He waited a few minutes, thinking that he could actually hear Billy's fingers moving around himself, gave a sleepy noise, and rolled over again towards Billy. He peeked just enough to see that Billy's eyes were on the ceiling and not him. And then he went on peeking; though it barely looked as if his eyelids were open at all.

It was all he could do to stay still and silent with his eyes sinking down Billy's chest and stomach, and the wealth of his insides lurching and exploding with heat when he saw Billy's strong grip and his flushed cock clamped together. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then reopened them fully, forgetting to squint.

Billy saw Dom looking out of the corner of his eye and felt the first stirrings of oh, my God, something is happening. It was the first time he ever felt anything serious come of their game. He had never thought this far into it. He had never thought that being this close to Dom while doing something sexual could affect him the way it was.

Dom felt his pulse begin to skip. The urgency of lust charged up in his belly and his limbs and he wanted to reach out for Billy, to replace Billy's hand with his own. To turn that face towards his face—stare into those pretty eyes and kiss that mouth until it yielded all its secrets and wet corners.

They were close enough to feel each other's body heat. And that was a deadly thing, because that drove the craving—and connected the craving to reality, to the we can get closer, we're already fairly close, to the it's only a little space, just six inches or so, just—

And before Dom could control himself, he slid the fingertips of his right hand over the blankets, easily and slowly so that Billy could see them coming and move if he wanted, and let them play circles in a mock-stroke near the blanket low on Billy's hip.

Rushed, in whisper, in undertone, the softest tone imaginable:

"Thought it was my turn," Billy uttered.

"It is..."

Dom moved his fingers low as Billy kept going, wrinkle coming between his eyebrows, pink on his cheeks.

"Dom..."

He shifted higher, splaying his hand over Billy's forearm, caressing the taut, flexing length all the way up to Billy's wrist, which was rolling as Billy lazily tugged himself to harder and harder arousal. Dom's body crept closer on the bed until they were touching side by side, his fingers creeping along the back of Billy's hand. He needed to be there. He needed to make Billy come. And his brain wasn't functioning properly.

He looked up at Billy, who had the most pained, desperate need written across his face, and it sparked the embers of lust in him again, seeing the expression he had always been curious about seeing up close and personal. He sunk close against Billy's side, his mouth on Billy's ear.

"Want to touch you," he breathed right into Billy's ear, and felt the shudder trickle through his friend's body. Relished that, then grinned, teasing his fingertips up around Billy's knuckles in time with the rhythm of his hand.

Billy's eyes closed. He felt like screaming, with the thousands of things he had rehearsed that he might say in reply to a statement like that. Dom's nearness was driving him mad, and it didn't make a difference that they'd crossed a line, or that Dom's hand—still inky on the back from whatever had been written on it that day—was two seconds away from circling the engorged tip of his cock.

"Yeah," Billy replied, barely a whisper, and altogether unrehearsed.

He could feel Dom's grin as the Brit's fingers sunk down, lacing with his fingers and doing nothing more than being moved with Billy's own fingers along their already established pattern. He looked down for a split-second, seeing their fingers interwoven around him, and a low groan fell past his lips before his head hit the pillow.

"You feel—" Dom's lips brushed his ear, freeing the whisper "—much better—" and then lower, just barely kissing under his earlobe and towards the start of his neck, "—than you sound."

His reward was a sudden rushing exhale from Billy's throat. Still grinning, and brimming over inside with how right it felt, how fucking good it felt, Dom dropped his bottom lip and placed a soft, damp kiss against the soft part of Billy's neck. His fingers simultaneously wormed their way further around the pulsing column of flesh being offered to them. He gradually pushed Billy's fingers away until his right hand fell useless to the blankets.

"My turn now?" he whispered, his mouth climbing a feather-soft, wet trail up the side of Billy's throat.

"Godyes," was the rushed, incoherent reply, as Billy felt himself overwhelmed by the simple well-placed touches. He opened his eyes, tilted his head, and Dom just happened to look up at that second. And they were staring at each other, mouths nearly touching. Dom's eyes skirted over Billy's, ticked down to his mouth, and then moved back up.

Fuck it, Dom thought, and leaned in, pressing his mouth to Billy's. Billy went still, eyelids falling, hot shivers crawling like electric tickling down his cheeks—down his neck—down his sides—down his legs—and again. He inhaled, drew back, parted his lips, and leaned in again, squishing their mouths together, letting Dom's bottom lip come between his, then his between Dom's, then a hint of tongues just faintly teasing. It was wet, and a little half-assed, but that was okay. Kissing Dom was just peachy perfect—especially since Billy had never kissed a bloke before.

Oh, he thought. Forgot about that.

He closed his eyes, flushing with heat when a little fluid beaded up at the tip of his cock and Dom's fingertips messily spread it, coating both fingers and Billy, just at the same moment that his tongue gently licked the inside part of Billy's upper lip. Well, that felt disgustingly good, Billy thought, his thoughts shivering and boiling along with his skin.

They pulled apart again, simply for concentration's sake—couldn't keep going with hands and lips at full focus at the same time. But they stayed close, foreheads bumping softly, noses side by side, sharing breath.

All the while Dom's fingers squeezed and shifted angle and speed, using the slow velvety moisture to ease the friction. He closed his eyes as Billy's pelvis jerked and flexed. The soft breathing and chest noises rose and fell, teasing his ears, stroking his own arousal like a caress.

Billy's limbs began to tremble lightly right before he came. Dom drew their faces close again, lightly pressing his mouth to Billy's mouth, which was full of tremors. Billy's breath came in unchecked draws and exits. And Dom fell irrevocably in love with the way Billy trembled under his fingers, with the way Billy's forehead got more and more red, with the way he tried to keep kissing but couldn't concentrate enough to do it

"Billy..."

His eyes open in reply; fractured green. Dom's fingers kept on; squeeze-squeeze-stroke-squeeze.

Come for me, Billy...

He didn't say it, but he felt that Billy almost heard his thoughts. And Billy gave a start when the feeling knotted and then exploded outwards, Dom's fingers lost in the sticky tangle. He jerked forward slightly when he came, bringing them together, and was only half aware that his hand had leapt up and clamped around Dom's arm, and that they were glued together at their sides, and that Dom was kissing the corner of his mouth.

Breathing heavily, Billy laid back. And Dom sprawled at his side, one arm going for a length of sheet to clean up with. And he did so quickly and without thinking, until it was done. He put his head on the pillow Billy was using and draped an arm over Billy's hot, damp chest. They went silent.

"When's round four?" Billy exhaled, half-panting.

Dom laughed, closed his eyes, and then sunk his face against the warm turn of Billy's shoulder.

"Bugger round four, man. Do I win this round?"

"There are winners?"

"There are now."

"Who says? Ach, Dom, can't think right now."

Dom grinned widely. "Then I win."

Billy peeked a single eye open. "Go to sleep."

"Dear Diary. Billy's so sweet in bed. Such lovely pillow talk. Makes me all warm and squishy inside—"

Billy leaned up, tossed his forearm around the back of Dom's neck, dragged him down and kissed him for a long, throbbing moment.

"Ehm. Yeah. Sleep's good," Dom muttered when they broke apart.

Billy grinned, dragging the covers over their head entirely and pinning Dom down into a cuddle and then fixed him with a stare. Dom smiled sweetly before getting in the last word.

"Round four is tomorrow night, by the way..."