The panting chases the rhythm of his wrist as it works Elijah's cock. Disconnected in a way, because Sean has trouble sorting the blurred lines of their sexual encounters. He can't successfully compartmentalize the way he feels, physically and emotionally, from the way Elijah might or might not feel in either category.

He shouldn't think that way, really. He doesn't think that way with Christine, but then, this is so far from the boundaries of his world with her that there is no room for comparison. This is something entirely other. Something that has boiled his blood and taxed his heart from its very beginning. After almost seven years, Elijah still confuses him from top to bottom. Never settled. Never domesticated.

He wallows in the familiar safety of Elijah's breathing and the slow, responsive pump of his hips. They're quiet when they do this. The novelty of talk expired long ago; and, in the end, there is nothing more arousing than the desperate noises of frustration and eagerness that cramp Elijah's throat when he's about to come, anyway.

There is time for little else. It took a lot of maneuvering just to get them this hour.

Elijah's mouth brushes his neck, his cheek, and his ear. Warm breath puffs past the lobe, shaky, embarrassed in timbre only. Elijah doesn't embarrass easily.

Sean twists the tip of Elijah's cock between three fingers and revels in the resulting whimper—tangible praise humming straight through to his bones.

The bed creaks just once when Elijah turns, burying his face against Sean's collarbone. He groans, presses his lips together, breathes frantically through his nose. He comes with a sigh, spilling white down the length of his cock and over Sean's fist.

Sean brings up a towel with his free hand, swipes several times, and then pulls Elijah's side close. "Mm."

"Time?" Elijah asks, chasing a breath, unwilling to move his head and find a clock.

"Time enough," Sean answers, flattening his palm across Elijah's stomach.

"Fuck me?" Elijah shifts, offering what he sees as a handy, pleasurable suggestion, sliding one knee between Sean's, and trapping Sean's cock against his thigh.

"Can't go on a stage after that, dumbass," Sean murmurs, nosing Elijah's hair.

"I dare you?"

"Try again."

"Fucker."

"No, no fucking. Remember?"

Elijah bites Sean's shoulder. "Call room service. One spine, freshly harvested."

"Mr. Wood, I have only one question. What's with the limp?"

"Well, Mr. Fan, I have to admit that my co-star here fucked my brains out just twenty minutes ago."

"You're an inspiration to us all, Mr. Wood."

"Good work, son. Good work."

Sean shakes, laughing, then shifts onto his back, dragging Elijah half on top of him. "That's an extra gay joke, now, just to piss you off."

"Another reason to withhold blowjobs. You make life so fantastically easy."

"Liar."

"Okay, it's not fantastic."

"No. You're a liar because you're going to blow me anyway."

Elijah's grin blossoms against Sean's chest, leaving an impression that tingles like a brand. "Always spoiling the ending."

Sean hums appreciatively, spreading out. Elijah's face disappears against his belly, presenting a shock of thick, dark hair. His tongue dips into Sean's bellybutton and then drags lower, accompanying a bite to the soft flesh below. The wetness trails hot down Sean's erection, laps the blunt head, then goes flat against the underside of it.

He takes the cock halfway into his mouth, sucking firmly. It's simple and thorough, a no-frills kind of blowjob that they've mastered over the years. Paste a different background and it'd be the same—living rooms, bedrooms, hotel rooms, trailers, sofa beds. Elijah's dark head bobbing between his thighs. Stifled, erratic breathing.

Sean closes his eyes and sinks into the wet suction that comes rhythmically around his cock. Elijah's left hand caresses from thigh to knee to belly—tugs nipples to hardness, fingertips flicking and flicking until Sean's back comes off the sheets, until he's breathing heavily and turned his cheek the other way—and finally joins his mouth, squeezing first Sean's balls, then the base of his cock.

Efficient. Hot all over but familiar; a third limb. Sean can't remember the last time he was embarrassed, receiving this attention from Elijah. Elijah has taught him comfort.

He shifts pointedly before he comes, gently thrusting between those pink, swollen lips. Noisy and wet, bobbobbobslurp, panting a bit, sweating a bit, his right hand tightening in Elijah's hair. He closes his eyes, jerks up, and fills Elijah's mouth with a single, quiet moan. He doesn't even notice Elijah's fingers slipping from behind his balls until they're gone and he feels empty.

Elijah stays there soaking up warmth and the rapid beat of a pulse, his body curled around Sean's pelvis. He could sleep that way for days. He has in the past, once or twice when they managed to get away. They don't get away much anymore; they don't really need to. There is a rhythm to this; a beautiful, slow rhythm that stretches time and turns even the shortest day into an extended fantasy. It's even sort of okay, most of the time.

Elijah knees back up the bed, rests his head against Sean's chest. Sean's hand stays on his hair.

"Was nice," Sean says, as he does, pinching Elijah's earlobe and then playing with the blood-flushed curve above it. "Been nice. Having you around."

"Yeah," Elijah replies, closing his eyes. Sometimes the way Sean feels about him seems to leak out Sean's fingertips and soak into his veins—an invisible, silent message that shoots directly to his brain. Love you. Always loved you. Always will. He'll say later, Don't doubt it, Sean. Those words may as well be I love yous. Elijah can't remember the last time that he actually had to say I love you. There are better phrases, he has learned.

Sean likes hearing them more than he'll ever admit. Likes them possibly more than he needs convincing of the sentiment that they convey. Because for all his neediness, he does know. Doesn't truly need the reminder. Greedily accepts it anyway. If life tries to take this from me, I will fuck life's shit up.

"I can't hang around tonight," Elijah says, when they finally begin searching for clothing among the sheets.

"Me either," Sean replies, shaking out his jeans.

"I'll call. Bill's here for a bit. Get a babysitter, bring Chris out for dinner, maybe, later on? See Dom off."

Warmth flowers, just above the pit of Sean's stomach. He is grateful to have what he has, even after all these years. There is not a single note in this chorus that he would change.

"Sounds great." They dress. "Pam around?"

Elijah nods, smoothing his hair. "She's not into the crowds."

"I don't blame her."

A brief trip to the bathroom breaks up the conversation and then they're at the door, checking for phones and socks and shoes. Sean smiles, sliding one arm around Elijah's hips and hugging their bodies together.

They kiss.

"Ready?"

"As usual."

And they share another step forward.