"To Last"

Title: To Last

Pairing: Stuart/Vince

Rating: NC-17

Genre: Challenge

Summary: When in the dark, sometimes the light of a television may help us see our way....

Notes: I've cherished the film "Maurice" for years. And have for years, wanted to discover some fan fiction based on the film. Failing that, I mentioned onlist that I'd like to see an AU of S/V set during the same period. Others said they wanted it too - but nothing's been posted. So I've decided to write the story I would have liked to have read instead - lol. This isn't a typical cross-over or period fic - but it does utilize the movie strongly and narratively in the story's progression. If you haven't seen "Maurice," the story won't be difficult at all to follow - but I cannot express how much I hope you decide to see it after reading the fic. Please do look at the Nightcharm link below, I beg you. You won't regret it.

Special Thanks: To my girl, Alexis - for the beta and putting up with me. I helped her discover the film and she's helped me in the creation of this story. Huggles, lady.

To Last

by xof

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NightCharm's "Maurice" Site - a MUST for alllllllllllll to see: http://www.nightcharm.com/features/maurice/

The "Maurice" gallery on Rupert Graves' Official Site: http://rupert-graves.com/vista/maurice/

~~

Soft light shone dimly under the offending hall entrance, as Stuart prepared to jar Vince's apartment door open with a slam of his hip. Years of experience of watching Vince manhandle the wood in wet weather had Stuart preparing to battle his way over the threshold. "Wet weather, my arse." Stuart shook his head at the understatement, trying to rid himself of the water that coated his rain soaked hair. The motion caused a wave of dizziness to flood Stuart's senses, which were clouded with all the drinks he'd had earlier on Canal Street. He wasn't drunk, just coming down off the buzz. He leaned against the door, listening for any movement within the apartment. It was the dead of night and still the television was playing. It made Stuart smirk at Vince's method of insomnia relief - bad science fiction that he'd seen a million times playing in the background, as Vince tried to drift off to sleep. But tonight faint music was all Stuart could make out, more classical than anything Vince's sci-fi collection would hold. Interesting..

Course how Vince ever went to sleep with the glaring, blaring noise of a Doctor Who soundtrack was beyond Stuart's comprehension.

Stuart grumbled under his breath, "Twat didn't even come out to meet me after second shift's end." He was being unreasonable, as was his want, considering he knew why Vince wouldn't have come to Canal Street that night. Too tired to think, drink or shag after pulling double shifts at Harlo's. All for the possibility of promotion at the shite emporium of Manchester. Stuart grit his teeth in anger, feeling the heat of emotion as it surged through his gut at the thought. Stuck, that's all Vince could manage despite all the long hours and hard work. Didn't matter in the end if he did get promoted, he'd only be deeper in the mire than he already was . . . sad bastard.

Giving off a dark chuckle, Stuart closed his eyes. "'Sad-bastard' Tyler and 'I've-had'em-all' Jones." He didn't know who was deeper in the mire between the pair of them. Both of them just going on, and neither of them happy with the way things were. But he did know something had to give soon, to change. Murmuring in a sing-songy voice, Stuart echoed the thought he'd been having for weeks now. "London calling.." He'd been talking about it for ages, shucking his Manchester life for bigger and better ponds. But he'd never been closer to actually doing it than he was now.

Stuart bit his lip as he frowned. Still and all, that didn't need deciding tonight. He didn't feel motivated to do anything, despite being made restless by having been out on the prowl and coming up short on finding a shag of interest. He'd gone out wanting to vent his needs on the nearest available bloke, only he'd ended up sitting alone by choice - brooding as he drank, drowning in the need to do but not do. His night a catch-22.

He'd tried to call Vince on his mobile, only to find that Vince had it switched off. Hours passed and still no signal. That added in with no answer to the messages he'd left on Vince's machine, had Stuart even more distracted from his hunt. It was the unquestioned desire for Vince to be there when Stuart wanted him that drove the irrational anger behind Stuart's brood.

After a long while out, Stuart had called a taxi to drop him at Vince's place. Blinking his way over the front stoop, hazarding the broken light outside the building - Stuart entered with the key copy Vince had given him weeks before. He stood quietly, losing the focus of his thoughts as he pressed his damp forehead against the door, and listened to that muffled music. Finally, he shook himself back to the purpose. Turning the key, Stuart hit the door with his hip in as quiet a thump as he could - expecting the usual resistance but suddenly finding himself sprawled ungracefully in a heap on the floor when the door gave with ease. "Fuck, Vince. When'd you fix the door?"

No answer sounded back, either in response to Stuart's question or to the small resonating thud his body made upon contact with the floor. "Oh that's right, just leave me lying here like a knob. No need to lend a hand, yeah?" Slowly he pulled himself back upright and closed the door.

The apartment was more than half shadowed in darkness, with only the light of a table lamp, the aquarium and the television breaking the black drape of night. Stuart muttered a curse as he stepped on a shoe as he tried to cross the room. He stumbled over the discarded shoe's mate two more paces in. Obviously Vince had just kicked them off when he got home earlier.

Looking over, he saw that Vince was resting on the sofa . . . sprawled out and asleep. Stuart stood for a moment, watching the play of light over his friend's face and body. Half naked, he was with his feet bare, shirt thrown on the floor and pants opened, boxers plainly in view between the gap. 'Nice,' the word echoed through Stuart's mind as he stared. His eyes followed up Vince's torso, along the sparse line of hair that split the smooth skin of his abdomen . . . then Stuart's gaze moved up over the chest and nipples to Vince's face. The man had one arm curled up under his head and the other flung up above him, lying against the armrest of the sofa. The angle left a hint of soft brown arm hair visible - leaving Stuart torn between the brief desire to touch or tickle Vince in his vulnerability. He did neither as he took in the darkness under Vince's eyes, the worrisome circles visible against pale skin. Better to let him sleep....

Stuart made no move to leave. He stood there, watching . . . drawn to Vince in his stillness. The man was as engaging now as he was when nervously babbling at rapid speeds. There was just something about Vince that sounded a note of welcome in Stuart's brain. It wasn't a fact based on reasoning, instead it was a tangible call of belonging that Stuart had found nowhere else. One he'd felt both thankful for and afraid of for more than half his life.

With a start, Stuart stopped the forward motion of his feet as his eyes widened in surprise. He took in the almost touch of Vince's out flung hand as it lay so close to Stuart's groin, the positioning unconsciously resulting from Stuart's walking closer to the sofa. He wanted to take that final step, to make the connection for them both . . . but as the seconds ticked, Stuart jerked himself back and shook his head. Not now, like that . . . with Vince not knowing.

Music. . . yeah, he turned to focus on the source of the music. Safer topic and all . . . except the music had stopped while Stuart was distracted. He turned to see what was on the telly and frowned. "Hugh Grant? You're watching that wanker?" If Vince had been awake, Stuart would have had a right time having a go at him for that fact alone. Not that Stuart wouldn't have been called by Vince on the fact that aside from being 'Hugh Grant,' the man on the screen was dead gorgeous. But who was the blonde? Natural golden hair long on top and short on the sides, pale and tall. Acting tentative while being brave...

Stuart found himself listening, arching his brow as he discovered the true nature of the two men's conversation. Grant was named Clive, the blonde was Maurice. They were in college by the robes and mortarboards, and .... the blonde was confessing his love for Clive. Gay period film? No wonder Vince owned it. Stuart bit his lip as the scene unfolded with Clive not believing that Maurice loved him in return, getting defensive at the declaration and blowing off the words by saying, "It's like the good blundering creature that you are, to try and comfort me. But there are limits. I'm thankful it was into your hands I fell. Most men would have reported me to the Dean, or the police." He watched as Maurice fled after the dismissal.

"Good, blundering creature.... Truer words." Stuart shook his head, thinking of the correlation to Vince. His interest caught, Stuart sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and took in the next scene . . . watching as Clive was surprised awake when Maurice climbed into his window at night, kissing him before making his escape. The brazenness made Stuart smile. Course the notion of leaving without a shag was a waste, it seemed to him. Stuart watched as the two men skipped lectures, blew off the Dean and spent an afternoon lying about on the grass in the country. He thought, 'yeah this will be it. They'll do it now.' But then as the minutes flew, Stuart saw much to his disbelief and despite Maurice's eagerness to play that Clive was against the consummation. "Coward," Stuart growled low as he felt a touch of anger following Clive's announcement that doing anything physical would "bring them down. I think it would spoil everything."

"Uptight cherry-arsed ponce." His anger building as Maurice quietly acquiesced to Clive's desire - accepting that they should only love in the mind, and thereby resigning himself to all and nothing in one moment. A prison of denial. Pausing in his own mental rant, Stuart looked at the blonde . . . taking in the look on his face - the realization of having found everything and then having it withheld. One quick look down at Vince, and Stuart flinched at his own hypocrisy. "Shite...."

Quickly making his way through Vince's apartment, Stuart entered the kitchen and by the light of the frig, tried to quietly locate the liquor as he filled a glass with ice. Now was not the time for sobriety's return.

Taking his glass back, Stuart stood watching from a distance across the room - Maurice visiting Clive at his estate, meeting the family and being grilled about Clive's supposed girlfriend by Clive's mother. Stuart swallowed down a large gulp; punishing himself with the burn as he realized how familiar the scene was to his own life . . . remembering Vince having to dodge the same type questions from Stuart's mother a time or two at a family dinner. There hadn't been many visits to the Jones' household after that; Stuart wouldn't have it. Stuart watched as the film progressed, as Maurice went to work while Clive continued on in school and seeing their time in London away from their families, the dinners with friends as Maurice played the best friend in public and then was turned away empty handed in private by Clive. Years passing without change....

Anger flared again as Stuart took in the scenes of the downfall and arrest of one of Clive's friends for homosexuality. He watched as Clive morally wilted in fear, turning the friend away when he called for advice and then as Clive brought his own cowardice to bear by turning away from Maurice. All this culminating in Clive's retreat to Greece after he collapsed from nerves. By the time Clive returned to England, Stuart was pacing the room - empty glass in hand as he watched the happiness come over Maurice's face at his love's return. He remembered that same expression on Vince's face when he'd returned from University, from New York and other countless trips for work. It bit harshly as that happiness was crushed by Clive . . . leaving Stuart clutching the glass too tightly as he watched the breakup crash down around Maurice's world. The blonde's voice sounding out, "What's going to happen to me? I'm done for." Too much, it was too much for the moment.

Stuart went back to the kitchen, flipping on the light over the sink as he set the glass on the counter. He could feel the liquid's induced languidness and he welcomed the ease from thought. He didn't want to reason his emotions out, usually never would. He just did, rather than questioned. It was his nature. Stuart leaned against the counter, looking round the small kitchen. His eyes settled on the photos Vince had on his frig, the one of them both as teens holding his attention. For the longest time, Stuart didn't look away. His mind was empty, vision held on that captured frame of their past. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, turning away after a bit . . . feeling surrounded by the present and the past.

Looking back to the other room, Stuart caught what looked like a wedding scene. He muttered, "fuck," as he saw Clive coming out with his bride . . . Maurice in the background alone. Jerking the bottle off the counter, Stuart returned and sat on the floor in front of the sofa. He was looking about for the remote, determined to turn off the movie - preferring to drink in the quiet rather than watch the rest of the horror unfold. He was blinking in the dim light, clutching the bottle as he searched with his free hand for the remote - not finding it on the table, the floor, which left the sofa. Damn thing was probably behind Vince, lost to him if he didn't want to wake the man.

Well that buggered his attempt to turn it off, unless he wanted to get up again. He was sorely tempted but just as he was about to push himself off the floor, Stuart's attention caught on a new face. Scruffy young man, laborer of some sort with a tangle of dark curls atop his handsome face. Stuart listened in as the scene of Maurice shooting game with another man played on, but his eyes were focused behind them. Scudder.... Alec Scudder, as he would find out. The name the other man called the gamekeeper. Stuart smiled a little, thinking if that one had ever turned up on Canal Street, he'd have pulled him in an instant.

Stuart found it interesting that this character was the only servant other than Clive's butler in the film that had lines. And in more than one scene it seemed, as he watched Maurice and the other man having a toast after the hunt. Scudder broke through the class barrier in public to wish Maurice a happy birthday. Slowly an idea came into Stuart's head, a what-if that might make watching the movie's end more entertaining. "Perfect...." His expectation was limited, but still anything to get them passed scenes like the one that followed. Maurice talking to Clive's wife, saying he had to go back to London early for an appointment. And her assumption that Maurice was having an "amorous intrigue" - which she shared thereafter with Clive, telling him of Maurice's "little girl up in London."

Sighing, Stuart downed a few short shallows straight from the bottle as the story progressed. Alec appeared again, helping to move a piano with Maurice after the ceiling started dripping during a rainstorm. Stuart was getting a tad giddy by that point, and he giggled nastily at his own thoughts of the two men manhandling the wood. Covering his mouth, Stuart's humor quickly fled again when Clive visited Maurice and congratulated him on "the greatest thing on earth, perhaps the only one." So snickeringly happy that Maurice was in love with what he assumed to be a girl.

"Cunt."

He hummed against the bottle's lip as Alec was shown walking through the night, in the rain. He continued to watch, putting the drink down as Scudder laughed loudly at seeing Maurice sticking his head and body out of an open window, letting the rain drench him after Clive had left. It was the sort of thing that people of different classes never saw or enjoyed about the other, and an act that one of the lower class would never have imagined from a member of Maurice's class.

Stuart kicked off his shoes, drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. More Scudder on the screen, the next morning as Maurice is leaving. Seems the youth refused to take money from Maurice for helping with his bags and it's pissed off the older man. But looking at Alec, Stuart could understand the why behind the imagined slight. Pride, and interest.

"Fuck me, it's Gandhi." Stuart almost fell over when Ben Kingsley came one the screen. His humor would have held, but when it became apparent that Maurice was visiting the man for a cure for his "affliction," the laugh that had been building died in Stuart's throat. Like someone could really be hypnotized out of sexual preference. "Bollocks." The roaring in Stuart's ears sounded forth the venom that notion rose in him. Next thing, the doctor's told Maurice to go back to the country and "stroll around with a gun." A very un-Stuart-like snort echoed a tad too loudly through the room, one that Stuart grimaced over when Vince shifted about in his sleep. Turning his head, Stuart was happy to see him settle back quickly into rest.

Looking at the screen again, he saw Maurice back in the country at Clive's estates - talking to Scudder in the dark. The youth was leaving England for the Argentine soon, and Scudder was keeping up a conversation with Maurice, trying to hold his interest before Maurice left to return to the house. Stuart took a swallow from the bottle, watching the scenes one after another, seeing the way Alec watched Maurice - the subtle presentation of his interest and how he became a part of the story. One step closer and time's running out.

The next few minutes were nothing less than a revelation. It was strange the impact that it held for Stuart, a man who had lived the life and knew the score, because what he'd anticipated . . . happened. Maurice in bed, Scudder from nowhere coming through the window - touching him, taking him over the line and bringing him home to who he really was. But the satisfaction Stuart felt wasn't just sexual, watching it all play out. It was the satisfaction of seeing a scene shown with equal respect as any other quality love scene done on film. Of witnessing the illicitness of subtly. Left him breathless, and a bit in awe despite his jaded cynicism.

Steps.... Steps up a ladder in the dark, over a windowsill, over the carpet, over the distinctions of class. Raggedy, damp and rugged taking off the clothes of clean blonde innocence. Lips traveling over the bare expanse of Maurice's chest. Maurice burying his fingers in Alec's hair, clutching him close. Rustle of body over body, sighs.... And then over in the blinding glare of a dim English morning.

Stuart let his head fall back, watching the telly still but letting the sense of rightness flow through a body at ease. He witnessed the morning after, seeing the fervor Maurice had for Alec. The two men naked in bed, Maurice sitting atop Scudder . . . both men running their hands over each other's skin as they talked. Maurice holding Alec's hands down on either side of the youth's head when Alec said it was time for him to leave, trapping him to the bed. Telling Alec to call him "Maurice" rather than "Sir." Stuart hummed a pleased noise was Maurice lay down fully atop Alec, but then he forgot to breathe as his own world tilted with one line from Maurice's lips. "Alec, you ever dreamed you had a friend? Someone to last your whole life."

Stuart's body froze at the import of those words touched home within him. He stared forward, blind to the ending of the scene and the next few moments that followed. With no warning, he jumped as a touch of fingers played over the back of his neck. Stuart turned to see Vince's eyes barely opened, sleep still clouding his consciousness. His friend shifted over a bit, sighed deeply and closed his eyes with one last play of fingers through Stuart's damp curls. With a mumbled phrase, "'s good movie," thick with the unreality of non-wakefulness, Vince fell back to sleep.

Biting his lip, Stuart turned his body to face Vince . . . his gaze holding on the man's face. He watched the light of the telly flickering off of Vince's skin, glowing over his eyelashes as they shadowed his cheeks. Vince's mouth was slightly opened, lips moist as breath eased deeply in and out of their depths. Stuart lifted a hand, holding it just over Vince's face a few inches above, and ghosted it down the line of his friend's body. He let the palm almost touch down on the small curve of Vince's stomach, before pulling it back all together. A thought of how aggravated Vince would be for Stuart's missing bits of the movie, made him smile. Vince never wanted Stuart to not see everything, ever the observer. Watching for years....

Stuart continued to watch Vince sleep, drinking from the bottle at times but mostly relaxing and letting his eyes play where his hands wanted to touch. He almost gave up on the movie until he glanced over while putting down the drink and saw a confrontation happening between Alec and Maurice. Looked like they were in the British Museum, somewhere public so they could talk without suspicion. "Maurice, listen." "Maurice, am I?" "Well, you called me Alec. I'm as good as you."

'I'm as good as you.' Stuart grimaced at the line, hearing the echo of it in his head. As good as Vince? As good as, maybe. Worthy of.... He'd often times been in doubt.

He watched as Maurice and Alec walked together in the rain, huddled under an umbrella. Finally alone and free to talk as they wanted. Funny, how rain seemed to represent a cleansing freedom in the film. And an irony that Stuart caught, as he threaded a hand through his own rain misted hair. Alec's voice carried through the room, "I don't want to hurt your little finger. Here. Stop with me, sleep the night with me." The invitation, the goodbye it represented, was wonderfully abrupt. Forthright. Much to Stuart's admiration. No mixed signals to trip over or let go of as a means to escape.

Next thing, the two were in bed the next morning. Single hotel bed, side by side - their clothes neatly laid out on the other bed. And Stuart's attention held firm as the two talked, as they wrestled - Alec practically crushing Maurice to him, squeezing him close before leaving the bed. Full frontal as the scene continued, for them both. "Nice." Stuart's delight ended quickly when the two started in on Alec's leaving England. Maurice asking him to stay, to be with him - despite "money and position." Stuart found himself just as disappointed as Maurice when Alec said it wouldn't work. They were too different for it to last. "It'd be the ruin of us both, don't you see."

Stuart frowned, biting his thumb as he hugged his knees again with his free hand and watched the movie coming to its end. He didn't hold out much hope considering it was gay cinema. They all seemed to end unhappily. A bit like life, in his regard. Still he was enraptured with what would happen, bad or worse, so he continued to stare at the screen. Minutes passed with no movement from Stuart as the footage ran, and then with the blowing of ships whistle Stuart began to smile. Scudder had missed his boat. Despite his doubts, despite the impossibility of their being together - he'd decided to give them both the chance. Maurice was shown leaving the docks, goodbye gift in hand, knowing that Alec hadn't made the departure.

Snorting as the next scene progressed, Stuart delighted in playing witness to Maurice telling Clive about his affair with Alec. That Scudder has given up everything, "without a guarantee." The scene was a goodbye between the two, an informed push into separation as Maurice told him the truth of what he was and what he wanted. "I'll tell you everything up to now and not a word beyond." Clive's reaction was one of the better moments of the film.

And then, the ending that he couldn't have anticipated and hadn't expected to be gifted with . . . .

Maurice walking through the woods, going to the place he knew Alec would be waiting. The boathouse on Clive's estate. Finding him asleep, with light playing over him - fire light. Paralleling the flickering light that played over Vince's face at Stuart's back. Irish eyes held fixed, unblinkingly taking in the reunion of Maurice with Alec - holding the passionate kisses and the embrace captured in his mind. "Now we shan't never be parted. It's finished." The words sounding through the room, and leaving Stuart glad for having heard them. For having seen them said....

A happy ending despite fate's uncertainty but with hope for a new tomorrow, made together.

"Damn . . ." The word pulled itself forth from his gut, said at a greater volume than he would have liked.

And caused Vince to jerk awake. "What? Stuart? What are you doing here?" His voice sounding rough and low as he hugged his chest, rolling onto his side.

Stuart stood, rescuing the bottle from the floor and putting it on the side table. "Taking all good boys to bed. Come on, Vince." He pulled Vince up, taking most of the man's weight as Vince slumped into him. The struggle to cross the room evident of just how out of it Vince still was, and how much Stuart had had to drink throughout the night. The shuffling of feet halted only in stops and starts as Stuart tried to hold Vince up against his own body.

Moving into the embrace of Stuart's supporting arms, Vince buried his head in Stuart's neck and murmured sleepily, "Didn't think you did good boys."

Stuart snorted, "No, that's - I do good boys well, and bad boys even better."

Vince blinked at him, trying to focus his eyes. "Stuart. You just stole material from Mae West. How gay are you?" His head fell back again to rest on Stuart's shoulder, every muscle in his body seeming to riot against consciousness.

Laughing as they stumbled over the threshold of Vince's room, Stuart eased Vince down on the bed. "Very, Vince. Very...."

He tugged at Vince's pants, trying to free the man from their discomfort as Vince lay sprawled out with his eyes closed. Stuart didn't try to prevent the slow hummmm of pleasure that escaped him at seeing Vince in nothing but boxers on a bed. Trying to shake himself out of the wicked thoughts the image caused him, Stuart lifted Vince's upper torso and pulled him correctly on the bed . . . head on pillow. He then pushed Vince's legs up so his friend could lie properly. Again, Vince curled onto his side with his eyes still closed.

"Stuart...." Barely audible, Stuart had to lean in to hear what Vince was saying. "Stay 'nite. Here."

With a smile, Stuart pressed a kiss on Vince's cheek. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of the man beneath him and caught himself nuzzling before drawing back. A hand reached out, halting his retreat with a tug on Stuart's pant leg. "Uhmm, Alec."

Snorting affectionately, Stuart caught Vince's hand. He knelt beside the bed and watched Vince shifting on the pillow. Taking his friend's hand, Stuart guided it to his neck and encouraged the fingers to play. He closed his own eyes at the sensation, purring unconsciously at the touch. When the hand dropped back to the bed, signaling Vince's final descent to dreamland, Stuart whispered, "It's the hair, isn't it Vince? Every time."

Stuart rose up slowly, standing still as he tried to think but losing the battle to his own drowsing senses. Eyes closing, he reached up to drag his jumper over his head. He knew only that rest was needed and a bed was near, one warmed by another - and it drove him to find the comfort he desired when sleeping. Belt giggle, fabric drop - and naked, Stuart walked round the bed and flowed into its ease. His body pulled him to the warmth of his Vince and darkness fell on consciousness.

~~

Crisp cold wind biting into his skin, rain pelting down at nature's whim and mud clinging to his cold feet. None of it mattered. He'd seen HIM. Seen the one he wanted, standing above - braving the elements in his own search for something, anything to ease his restlessness. The hyper-wanting they both shared below the surface, the innate 'knowing' he had for the other. Class didn't matter, society didn't matter - nothing matter but taking that next step, putting his foot up on the rung of the ladder and pushing forward.

Second story, rubble crunching under his worn wet shoes - announcing his presence loudly in the night. The Keeper neared the beckoning draw that was Sir's open window. A head duck and there he was.... Sir sitting up in his bed, as if expecting the Keeper to be where he was now - to be climbing through the window and crossing the carpet floor with muddy feet. "I heard you calling for me, sir. I know, sir. It's alright. I know, sir. Come on, lie down." Cold fingers rushing over buttons, parting them to touch the warm skin beneath. The black pajama top pushed off pale shoulders as Sir fell back onto the bed, allowing Keeper to take what was there. To show him what was theirs to have....

Lips traveled as Keeper claimed his want, leaving wet trails of rain to mingle with the wetness of his tongue traveling up Sir's chest. He felt the shiver, the tremble of the man beneath and knew the echoing intensity within his own slim frame. Head turned to the side as Sir opened the way for Keeper to taste more of his soft skin, lips warming as they neared the sweet unknown of that first kiss. Sir tore off Keeper's cap, tangling his fingers with new frantic awe in the dark fire of wet waves . . . feeling the answering claim as Keeper's hands threaded into Sir's hair immediately upon. The two men both wanting to hold, to have - moving each other closer until with little calculation, their lips met and a strangled moan broke the sound of silence.

Sir arched up, needing the taste to continue - to feel the sweet heat of discovery. Keeper growled low in his throat as he felt Sir's hands fall from his hair, murmuring in a greedy plea. "I know, Sir. I know," as if the words were reason enough to not pull away.

With a shuddered breath, Sir completed the motion he'd started . . . not a push away, but a half-frantic pulling of his hands at Keeper's clothing. The man wanted skin to skin and despite his sensual ignorance, he desired the education of - "More."

Keeper smiled, his eyes glinting wild and dark - backlit by the moon as he leaned back and tore at his own clothing. He enjoyed the seeking hands that pressed against his body as each bit was exposed. Coat gone, shirt, undershirt, gloves thrown without care and those eyes searing him onward - too enthralled to be second guessed or scared. Keeper almost froze at the need he was being gifted to witness, but the eagerness of Sir's reaching hands drove him on. He fell forward, giving Sir a long kiss before sitting on the bedside and yanking at his boot ties. Leather kicked free, and Keeper stood beside the bed letting Sir see him as his pants dropped to the floor.

Proud, predatory and hard - Keeper allowed Sir to see him . . . completely.

With a hungry determination to touch, Sir quickly sat up and clasped Keeper closer . . . his arms around the youth's hips. Head resting on Keeper's chest, Sir held him between his legs.

Feeling the hard evidence of Sir's response against his leg, Keeper swept down for a kiss - overwhelming the man as he bodily pressed Sir back onto the bed, hands freeing Sir from the last of his clothing. Catching frantic hands as they tried to touch all of him at once, Keeper bit playfully at Sir's mouth . . . wanting to hear more of the pleasure escaping with each kiss. Their hips met, hard cocks driving together as each man strained ever closer. The pace quickened, timed in chorus to each panting breath as the flame singed the hope of having this first embrace last much longer.

Keeper lifted his head, wanting to see the rise and build-up play out over Sir's face. The moon glowed in a shimmer over their pale slick skin, adding to the cursory shadows of their pressed bodies as they moved - casting the dark shape of them against the far wall.

Sir writhed beneath the Keeper, almost incoherent to anything but the coming bliss of undiscovered sensation. His Keeper called him back as the dark haired youth took Sir's nipples each into the warm of his teasing mouth. With a startled gasp, Sir pulled his hands from their held prison and clutched at Keeper's hips . . . blindly seeking.

Keeper groaned as he thrust against the man in his arms, increasing the pressure as he circled down, over and along the wet hardness below. Needing the feel, he quickly took Sir's mouth again - needing the contact as the void came crashing through them both. Their cries fed from one to the other, and all Keeper knew was a flash series of images and sensation - Sir's wild eyes, wet mouth, hot skin, hard cock - before the call of want having been received exploded behind his eyes and darkness was gained. His mind lost in pleasure's haze....

~~

Waking on a moan - feeling it traveling through and out his body as clarity returned simultaneously . . . the dream's end given voice as sound rumbled through the room. The sound caught as Stuart pressed his face into the warmth of a smooth back, breathing in the scent of man and something familiar.

Something, Vince.

A very warm, half undressed and awake Vince - as Stuart could feel, his eyes closed as Vince rolled over to face him. Stuart continued to feign sleep, though it was obvious he wasn't still out. The two men lie together, pushed close as the silence weighed them down with the anticipation of acknowledged wakefulness. A barely audible drawn breath threatened the ruse as Vince shifted his legs closer, thigh coming into contact with Stuart's dream hardened cock. The stillness that followed added in with Stuart's knowing that Vince was watching him, waiting.

The call of those eyes finally had Stuart open his own.

Blue, storming blue in the half-light of morning's light - Vince's eyes. And an expression of adoring confusion....

Stuart could read the questions on Vince's wrinkled brow - why was he here now, here now in Vince's bed, here now naked in Vince's bed. But for the moment, he wasn't saying anything . . . merely absorbing the rareness. Stuart grinned a little, the smile leaving rapidly as he was distracted by the look of Vince in the morning - hair mussed and spiky, shadow of his unshaven chin and eyes thoughtful.

Reaching out a hand, Stuart held that gaze as he laid the weight of his palm against Vince's chest. He curled his fingers through the small patch of hair, enjoying the increasing heartbeat pulsing below the skin. Vince sucked in a breath, wetting his lips but still leaving the say or do to Stuart. Stuart raised his thigh as he wrapped his leg around his friend's, nudging Vince's thigh tighter against his hard-on. He knew the moment couldn't last - the comfort and rightness of being this near, in the moment - it would end, depending on what was said or done next.

One thought swept through Stuart's mind, and the power of its potential impact drove the words softly from his lips. "Vince, have you ever dreamed you had a friend? One to last your whole life...."

A beat of nothing and then Stuart watched as Vince eyes widened, recognition coming to the fore. In a voice thick with meaning, Vince answered. "You have that, Stuart. We both do."

Those words - answer to a siren's call. Stuart closed his eyes, and dove into the truth of what they both wanted. He took Vince mouth in a slow deep kiss, pressing himself against and then over the other man.

Stuart's weight held Vince prone as he opened for Stuart's talented tongue. One taste and hesitancy was gone. Vince kissed back with desperate want and eagerness - a groan sounding off Stuart's lips. Strong hands held Stuart, soothing a tease down his spine and over his arse . . . delighting in the freedom to play. Freedom to give and to receive as they willed.

Driving his hips down, circling them into Vince's, Stuart pulled back as he yanked the boxers down the man's legs. He knelt between Vince's spread thighs - his hands rubbing along the length of his friend's legs as he savored the view.

Vince pressed up into the feel of Stuart's touch, blushing as the seconds continued to pass and still all Stuart did was look.... Looking at Vince's moist mouth, at his panting chest, at his fists tangled in the sheets and at his hard cock. Vince reached up and grabbed Stuart's wondering hand, tugging as he whispered. "Come back."

With a predatory grin, Stuart did just that. They both gasped as their groins met, bare skin to bare. "Oh yesssss," Stuart moaned into Vince's mouth with another kiss. Instant addiction, and a need for more built as their lips glided together so sweet. Stuart shivered as Vince's hands mapped their way over his body, coming to rest one in his hair and the other tracing the crease of his bottom. Humming at the feel, Stuart leaned down and took Vince's nipple between his teeth with a teasing pressure before sucking at the erect nib - crossing over to the other as Vince arched in pleasure.

Stuart trailed down the center of Vince's torso, bathing the flushed skin with his warm wet tongue. Stopping to nip along the hard bone of Vince's hip, Stuart soothed the sharpness with small kisses in a line to the man's groin. He felt the nudge of hard cock under his chin, a wet streak marking his cheek as he worked down. Smiling with an evil glint in his eyes, Stuart ran his stubbled jaw lightly over the length of Vince's erection and listened to the desperate groan Vince gave in response. Hands sliding through the dark mop of his hair, he chuckled as Vince guided Stuart's mouth to take it in. And in he did, sheathing the firm line of flesh between his lips and over his tongue. Stuart bobbed rapidly along as Vince thrust into the dip and suck.

A constant gasping refrain echoed through Stuart's ears, added in with the wet sound of his mouth over Vince - making his own gut clench at the need it brought out in himself. He wanted more of this, more of everything - but most of all he wanted inside. Needed to house himself in the heat, knowing that it was Vince taking him home.

He pulled away, blowing a breath over Vince's slick length. At his friend's jerk and shudder, Stuart held the man's gaze once more . . . keeping it as he licked his own fingers and sucked first one then two into his mouth. Vince moaned at the implication, unconsciously spreading his legs wider as Stuart continued to wet his own fingers. Stuart leaned back over Vince, covering his body as he kissed him. Their lips at play, Stuart reached down between them and circled the opening he so wanted to fill. He road Vince's arching desperation, biting at Vince's ear as first one and then both fingers pressed inside.

Hot, tight and gripping round the invading lengths, it drove the desire to be where his fingers were to the forefront of Stuart's intentions. He groaned in Vince's ear, hearing the man's wanton invitation gasped out in return. "Have me."

Stuart growled out softly, "Where...." And he watched as Vince fought against the desire to comprehend what he was being asked.

"Wha..., oh. Right side, drawer. Please...." When Stuart leaned over with his free hand to get the lube and a condom, Vince pulled him close - reaching down and holding the wrist between his legs - making Stuart stay in his body until the prize was retrieved - not wanting the fullness to leave.

Managing to snag the tube and packet, Stuart pulled back up on his knees. He sheathed his dark-blooded cock, hissing at the sensitivity, and then coated Vince's hand with the lube - guiding him to stroke his palm along the shaft. Intent and locked, they stared at each other - breathing harshly as Stuart lubed his fingers and pressed them inside of Vince. Too close, too needful - and Vince's moaned, "please," sent Stuart to find his way.

He captured Vince's hand and pulled it down between them again, as he lifted his own body and covered Vince. Rising up on his hands, Stuart murmured his demand. "Take me there, Vince." He fought not to close his eyes as his cock was drawn to the opening, as he thrust his hips forward and breached Vince's arse. He fought to hold the wildness in Vince's eyes, to know his face as they joined. Heat, pressure, friction all warred with his intent - until Vince cried out and pulled Stuart's mouth to his own. Connected at mouth and groin, Stuart closed his eyes and lost his reason in the feel.

They moved together, bodies slick and clinging. Stuart circled his thrusts, digging his fingers into Vince's shoulders as the man beneath him clung to him just as fiercely. Vince pulled Stuart in, pushing up into each downward slide. The rhythm never slowed as they worked the rising thunder, till all was breathy pants and pounding pulses. No way for it to last, and yet forever seemed to hold them in its grasp. The feeling raced down their spines, pressure piggy-backing on pressure as they drove against each other.

Vince moaned his partner's name in a stream, each time a plea.

Stuart covered Vince's mouth, wanting to absorb the sound even as he screamed his own pleasure back over Vince's tongue. Shudders racking his slim frame, Stuart spilled into the heat even as Vince gasped his own culmination - chorused by a warm coating of Stuart's body with his seed. Even after the fall, they both clung together, mindless and happy to remain.

After a long turn of time, Vince soothed a touch down Stuart's back - fingertips sliding from neck to arse, then back. He breathed deeply, smiling a little as Stuart nuzzled closer.

Stuart nipped at Vince's neck, distracting his partner enough from the reality of having to pull from Vince's body. Still despite the attempt, Vince murmured a disgruntled noise at the loss. Lying back against Vince, Stuart closed his eyes . . . content to drowse.

Vince was silent for a tick, and then he asked quietly, "Is this the bit when I'm supposed to be talking about 'drowning before your day'?" His tone sounded a bit halted, but still strong. Teasing, even.

Stuart snorted, shaking his head. He pulled up for a sweet kiss and felt the eagerness of Vince's response. Murmuring in answer against Vince's lips, "Wrong line, Vince." Looking down at his partner and friend, Stuart smiled easily. But then he said in all serious intent the line from the film that had heartened him the most, "Now we shan't never be parted. It's finished." It was a call to fate for what he knew was their just reward for waiting, for having earned a tomorrow together.

Vince trailed his fingers along the side of Stuart's face, pushing a tangled curl behind the man's ear. He leaned in and kissed Stuart's mouth softly, and with an understanding nod - pulled Stuart back into his arms.

To last....

Finis

After-note: The actual quote from Mae West goes like this - "I'm always good. But when I'm bad, I'm very good."