Title: Moonlight Serenade

Author: Candy Apple (candyjbshsc)

Pairing: Donald /Timothy

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Take broken air conditioning, an oversize dog, a pool, steel drum music, and two scantily clad men in love, mix them all together, shake it to a waltz, and add a little paper umbrella. (This story takes place in the "14 Days of Valentine's Day" universe. You can read this without reading those stories - an original character is the only major reference.)

Warnings/Spoilers: One big spoiler for my 14 Days of Valentine's Day series, but I can't think of specific spoilers for the movies.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the boys, or the song lyrics, and I didn't make any money on this, but I sure had fun. Barry Manilow's version of "Moonlight Serenade" is my personal favorite, and the one I heard in my head when I wrote this!

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MOONLIGHT SERENADE

by

Candy Apple

If someone had told me last summer, when we were agonizing over whether or not to shell out the money for a swimming pool, we'd do it this year because of a nearly 200-pound one-eyed shelter dog with arthritis, I would have been understandably skeptical. But Timothy read this article about what wonderful exercise swimming was for people with arthritis, and since Farley isn't getting any younger, Tim is forever searching for new and better ways to fight the progression of the condition.

So we took some out of the bank, I blew one large retainer on it, and some other things went on a credit card, and we became the proud owners of a large in-ground pool. Of course, with Timmy, you don't just dig a hole and stick something in the yard. His yard is carefully engineered to create a particular aesthetic effect.

I call it his yard because I learned early on that he was the designer in this partnership, and I'm just the guy who runs the lawnmower, moves hoses around, and takes the appropriate action if some multi-legged or winged intruder decides to nibble on, infest, or trample one of his plantings - or, worse yet, if it has the unmitigated audacity - you like that phrase? Timmy taught me that one, and even though we were arguing at the time and I was the one being accused of having it, I thought it sounded kind of highbrow and cool, so I use it once in a while. Anyway, worse yet, if something has the unmitigated audacity to show itself, buzz, or otherwise dive-bomb Timothy, assuming he doesn't shoot it down with a well-aimed spray of insecticide, its execution becomes my top priority. I still wish he'd learn how to use a gun. I once saw him drop a yellow jacket flying mid-air at ten feet using a can of Raid. Imagine what he could do to a bad guy using a gun?

Now there are some microscopic pests on some delicate plants, like the roses, that are his pet project. He was fretting over some kind of mite that he found marching around on his Tropicana roses (which kind of pissed me off, too, because those are the orange ones and I like those best, and he wouldn't allow them in the house until the bush they came from was cured of its infestation). Of course, I couldn't help teasing him that he couldn't come inside, either, until his bush was free of mites. He wasn't amused, even when I offered to do the inspection myself.

Anyhow, adding a pool to this delicate balance of flowers, vegetables, ornamental trees, plain old regular trees, shrubs, and assorted yard...ornaments? Accouterments (that's what Timothy calls them)? Let's just say adding a giant rectangular hole in the middle of all this precisely engineered paradise was anything but simple. Shrubs and plants were relocated with more care than most disaster survivors. Farley's carefully planned and strategically located pooping zones had to be revised. (How that poor dog knows what the hell he's doing, I'll never understand, but he and Timmy have some kind of deal where he - Farley, I mean - can defecate to his heart's desire, chew, dig and otherwise do dogly things in a couple of designated areas, provided he doesn't do those things in certain other areas. I swear to God, that dog has the brain of a human gay man, and he's as crazy about Timmy as I am, and just as willing to do everything, including re-routing our bodily functions, to please him.)

Fortunately, Timmy did most of the planning and I just did most of the work. I'm sorry, but supervising does not count as yard work in my world. But the massage I get afterwards and the spectacular dinner, and then marathon sex that starts in the tub and ends sometime the next morning on sweaty, overused sheets, do tend to make me overlook that.

When we finally had the path cleared, we did of course weather a few disasters with the equipment running over something or one of the workmen striking the wrong note with Farley. He never did anything, but if he didn't like them, he'd sit on the patio and bark, snarl and otherwise menace them until Timothy or I would take him inside. Sometimes when you get a big group of guys on a project like that, and they get wind the homeowners are a gay couple, you run into a bigot or two who has an attitude. I like the idea that if I'm not there, Farley is there to sit on the patio and snarl at them instead of me. Timmy can handle taking care of himself in those situations, but I like taking care of him anyway. Farley is apparently of the same mindset.

By the time the summer heat really kicked in, the pool was in place, most of the other living things had been settled in their new homes, and with a guide to feng shui gardening in hand, Timothy began the project of making the pool the center of some sort of tropical paradise. For all the teasing I've given him about it, he has amazing taste, and all the beautiful things he does with the house and the yard are just part of that knack he has for decorating my life. If I were doing all of it, the grass would be cut, the worst of the weeds would get zapped with some sort of chemical, and I'd cut back the trees when they started overtaking me, but the artistic flair is all his. And he's wonderful at it.

Between the addition of a rock garden with a fountain, some other carefully arranged flowering plants and ornamental trees and shrubs, all we needed was the steel drum band and we would have a better setting than we did on our honeymoon in Maui. And Timothy does most of the work on the pool himself. He said he thought that was fair because I usually do most of the yard work. I have a much better tolerance for the heat than he does. And dirt, and bugs, and the occasional surprise Farley leaves when he forgets the backyard's dog poop zoning laws. I don't really mind, all bitching aside. Timmy's my sweetheart and I like to make him happy.

At least the pool occasionally gets Timothy out of what he considers being "scantily clad" for the summer. For him, that's sandals, a crisp pair of shorts, and some nice short-sleeved shirt or polo shirt. It can be 95 fucking degrees outside and he smells good and looks better, if that's possible. I look like a drowned rat in a tank shirt, cutoffs, and flip-flops. Now that the pool's there, and thanks to our backyard being as wooded as it is, my favorite thing to do when I'm hot and miserable is run out in the backyard, strip naked, and jump in the pool. I don't see a need for swimming trunks when there's nobody there but me, Timmy, or Farley.

Oh, to be a dog, when you can run through the yard and jump in the water with your dick swinging in the breeze and nobody cares. Of course, if the price you pay for that is being neutered, I'll stick with being human.

Albany has been as hot this summer as it is cold in the winter. I don't know why I'm living in this bizarre combination meat locker and blast furnace, except that's where Timothy is, where his job is, where he wants to be. So that makes it home. He does occasionally point out to me that we generally don't have hurricanes, earthquakes, or tornados here, which is a subtle reminder for me to quit whining about the weather because people have it worse elsewhere - or he's sick of listening to it, which is probably more often the case.

It shouldn't surprise me when the air conditioning in a twentysomething car gives out in this kind of heat, but it always gives me reason to complain. People expect private investigators to show up in a suit and tie, versus cutoffs and bare feet, so by the time I got home on that particular boiling day, I felt almost sick from the heat. The only reason I didn't die on the porch is because I knew if I turned the key in the lock, I'd walk into the refrigerated heaven of central air. When I walked in and it was just as hot inside as it was outside, I thought I'd croak.

"I already called for a service person," Timmy said, coming down the stairs, wearing his swimming trunks and a tank shirt, a fine sheen of sweat covering that perfect body of his. I just stood there and stared at him a moment, thinking I was the luckiest man on the planet. The sweatiest one, maybe, but still the luckiest.

"Hey, beautiful," I said, managing to smile in spite of feeling like shit. Then Farley came loping through the house, giving a lethargic bark or two, tongue hanging out, drool going everywhere. It's good to have a dog. Despite their heightened sense of smell, they still run up to you like you're the best thing in the world, even when your partner keeps a safe distance. I patted his big old head, and even he seemed too hot to horse around with me like he usually does. He wandered ahead of us, listless, toward the kitchen and his water bowl.

"You look...wilted," Tim said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. Then he felt my forehead - I'm not sure what he thought he was going feel except heat and sweat, but he seemed worried. I must have looked pretty bad. "Let me get you something cold to drink. You probably haven't been drinking enough to stay hydrated all day."

"No, because it's hard to tail someone when you have to get out of your car to piss every two blocks," I retorted. I knew I was snappy, but I was miserable, and he knew that, too. "The air broke down in that piece of shit," I grumbled, beginning my strip routine. Off went the tie, and I started moving through the house. Off came the shoes, shirt, pants, undershirt until I was standing there in my boxers. I had no business complaining about the car. If I'd made my move before the pool went in, like Timmy suggested back in the winter, I'd have been driving something up to date with good air in it. He had the compassion not to bring that up. He handed me some refrigerated bottled water, and chuckled a little. "What?"

"I've never seen anyone get naked faster than you do," he replied, and then he pressed a cool washcloth against my burning face and I thought I was in heaven. While I gulped at the water, he moved it around to the back of my neck.

"Oh, my God, I love you," I mumbled. He just laughed in that soft, sweet, affectionate way of his and then snapped the waistband of my boxers.

"Last one in the pool is a rotten egg," he challenged, pulling off his tank shirt and bolting for the back door. Now, if you've ever seen two fully grown men and a French Mastiff running through a house and trying to all get through a single door at the same time, you'll never forget the sight. Somehow, I lost my boxers, we got through the door without killing each other, and I made it to the pool first, jumping in, ungainly, like a kid leaping into a swimming hole, followed by Timmy, who was a merman in another life, and did some kind of graceful swimming motion to propel himself under the water and back up again. Neither of us were prepared for the cannonball that was Farley, as all 200 pounds of dog flesh hurtled into the pool at warp speed, displacing water everywhere, scared to death he'd miss some fun with his humans if he didn't catch up to us.

Now I remembered what there was to love about summer. Timothy's beautiful bare body gliding through the water...well, except for those damn trunks. I started swimming after him, chasing him around in the water, grabbing for his trunks.

"We're outdoors and it's broad daylight!" he said, brushing my hands away.

"Who's going to see you, a bird? Come on, honey, make my day," I said, and he laughed.

"I don't think that's exactly how Dirty Harry said it," he replied, still laughing.

"He's not the Callahan I wanna see naked," I said, still chasing him around, mock wrestling with him in the water, trying to get his trunks off. Farley joined the fray, and a moment later, the trunks were in his teeth as he made a swim for it to the other end of the pool. "Huh," I said, floating there with Timmy now, watching the dog swimming away, victorious. "I shoulda used my teeth," I added, laughing.

"What if the repairman gets here? How am I supposed to go let him in?"

"We left the front door unlocked. Besides, he'll want to look at the compressor, and that's out here."

"Damn it," Timmy groused, swimming after Farley, who got the notion that Tim wanted to play with the trunks. I swam after Timmy, grabbing him around the waist.

"Screw the trunks. It's about a hundred outside, and it's gonna take forever to get that repairman here. Wanna have some wild, kinky pool sex?" I asked, humping him in that weird, floating way you can hump someone under water.

"I would have said yes, but the lube's in my trunks."

"You keep lube in your trunks?"

"Water isn't the best lubricant, and I thought it would be fun to do it underwater. Well, I mean, with the lower half underwater. I don't want to drown."

"We need those trunks. Farley!" I shouted and swam after him. We started playing tug-of-war with Timmy's trunks, which I'm sure cost $40 from some nice men's store, not the $5.99 I usually paid for mine. Of course, he spent a hell of a lot more time wearing his than I did.

"Just get the lube out of the pocket!" Timmy hollered, swimming after the two of us.

"The front door was open so I came back here to look at the unit," a male voice said.

Timothy and I froze. All three of us had some sort of grip on the trunks, and only Farley let go, so he could swim toward the shallow end of the pool, trot up on the patio, and bark at the repairman. So there Timmy and I were, bobbing in the water, each holding onto one side of the black trunks.

Farley was giving me the diversion I needed, and while I like to tease Timmy, I'd never want to really humiliate him. So my at times warped sense of chivalry kicked in and I pulled myself up out of the pool and made a dash for the towel that was on the nearest chaise lounger. I had it mostly around me by the time he tore his attention away from the dog. Farley's not vicious, but he definitely likes to check out strangers, and he's fiercely protective of both of us, so he tends to hold visitors at bay until one of us calls him off.

"Quite a dog," he said, backing up a little. He gave me sort of an odd look. I'd seen that look before. It was the "Oh, they're gay guys" look.

"Come on, Farley, give him a break. He's here to fix the A/C," I said, taking hold of his collar. "The unit's right over there."

"Did it just die on you, or what?"

"I wasn't home. My partner called you," I said, and by now, Timmy was out of the pool and wearing his pool side robe, which had been tossed over the same lounge chair as the towel.

"I came home a little early from work, and the house was an oven. I'm not sure how long it was off."

"Okay, I'll check it out." He headed toward the unit, still glancing back at Farley with a little unease.

"Guess it's a good thing you got that extended warranty," I said, and Timmy was looking at me with this big grin on his face. "What?"

"Thanks," he said, sliding his arms around me from behind.

"Can't have some strange guy checkin' out my baby's goods," I joked, leaning into him, wondering if that repairman had something this good to go home to. If he was as excited to get home to his wife or girlfriend, if he had one, as I was to get home to Timothy. If he was lucky enough to have someone wonderful light up when they saw him, and if his dog, if he had one, would jump in front of a truck to save him. I honestly didn't care if he did or not, I just knew I had all that, and I was happy.

When he came around the corner of the house, we were still in our little clutch, laughing and joking around with each other.

"I need a part. I'll have to come back tomorrow," he said.

"Tomorrow?" Timmy parroted, releasing me. "It's 95 degrees. You can't get the part today?"

"This is already an after hours call, and I have to get the part from a supplier who's already closed. I can be out here by about nine tomorrow, but I can't do it tonight."

"Well, I guess that's it then," Tim said, shrugging.

"I can be here tomorrow morning, so you can go ahead to work," I offered.

"Okay," Tim agreed, sighing. "Thanks for coming out this afternoon," he said as he led the repairman back through the house toward the front door.

I thought about taking Timmy to a hotel for the night, but most of them wouldn't let us in with Farley, and we'd never leave him here in the hot house while we languished in air conditioned comfort. We could have crashed at Kenny's apartment since it was air conditioned, but it was a small one-bedroom, and by the time two of us and Farley descended on him, it would be too crowded, and I don't even know if his building allows dogs.

I looked at the big dog standing there by me with his tongue hanging out, panting. While his tongue didn't hang out quite as far when he was too hot, Timmy didn't care for the heat much more than Farley did.

When Tim came back out on the patio, he took off his robe and sat on the foot of the lounge chair. He was wearing his trunks again, but I still couldn't take my eyes off his beautiful damp body.

"We could go to a hotel and sneak him up the stairs," I offered. Even Farley gave me a skeptical look at that idea.

"Sneak him in? Donald, just how would you sneak him anywhere? Dress him up in drag?" He sighed. "It's one night. We'll be fine."

"I've got an idea. Why don't you take Farley out shopping to a couple pet stores? You can both be in the air conditioning for a while that way."

"What are you going to be doing?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out. Now go get dressed and spend a little time in the A/C."

He gave me a strange, skeptical look, but he took Farley and headed upstairs to get dressed. I was back in the pool taking a swim when they left. As soon as the door closed, I jumped out of the pool and sprang into action.

********

Farley was the beneficiary of my desire to hang out in air conditioning, because the longer I spent wandering the aisles of the pet supply store with a shopping cart, the more treats, toys, and other supplies I found. I called Don when I was almost finished in the second store to find out what he wanted me to bring home for dinner.

"Hey, honey," he replied, and I could hear he was moving around while he talked.

"I thought I'd bring some dinner home," I said. "Or did you already eat?"

"No, but I've got dinner covered. Just bring your beautiful self home," he said, and I could tell he was smiling. Sometimes I love him so much it leaves me nearly speechless. Nearly.

"I can do that. What about the dog?" I asked, rubbing Farley's head as we stood in line at the store.

"Bring him, too," he replied, laughing.

It was after eight when I got home, and the sun was still shining. I wasn't looking forward to going into the hot house, but I was looking forward to being with Donald, even if we were going to roast alive. At least we'd roast together.

Farley trotted along happily at my side, refreshed from our stint in the stores, and chewing on the new toy he'd selected himself. It was a long, tubular stuffed thing with a multicolored fringe on each end. It was already soaked with dog spit, but he was as happy with it as a baby with a pacifier, so it was a good investment. I could already see the future tugs of war between Don and Farley and the toy. He had no real aversion to dog saliva, so there was very little playing and roughhousing he wouldn't engage in with our big four-legged, one-eyed, spoiled child. I wondered if Farley was looking as forward to seeing Donald for his own reasons as I was.

When I walked in, I set my bags on the kitchen counter. For a moment, I thought the heat was giving me audio hallucinations. I could hear the strains of steel drum music. I was transported back in time to our honeymoon, to the luau we attended one moonlit night, to the magic of being just married, to being at the beginning of everything. It's insane the way the sound of a steel drum could do all that. I smiled when I thought of how blessed I was to be with someone I was just as excited to see right at that moment as I was to see him the day after we said our vows.

I followed the sound of the steel drums to the patio, and I couldn't believe what I saw. There were a couple of pedestal fans oscillating to keep the air moving, our patio table was set for dinner for two, outdoor lanterns were strung between the trees, and our tiki-style citronella patio torches were nearby, ready to be lit when the sun went down. The steel drum music was coming from our portable CD player. In the middle of all of it was Donald, dressed in nothing but a pair of Hawaiian print swimming trunks that I know he kind of hated, but he looked adorable, and they fit the mood perfectly. He held up my pair of trunks that are similar, swinging them around on his finger.

"Why don't you slip into these, sweetheart?"

"I can't believe you did all this," I said, taking him in my arms, loving the feeling of his warm, bare skin, eager to get rid of my clothes and join him in the tropical paradise he'd managed to make out of a miserable hot night with no air conditioning.

"I was just thinking about a time when a hot night outdoors was a good thing," he said, and I knew he was thinking about our honeymoon, too, and a wedding night spent in a private pool, making love under the stars while the warm breeze swayed the trees around us... I smiled when I felt his arms slip into position to slow dance with me.

"I never thought I could want you more than I did then," I told him, kissing him. "You want to know something? I do now."

"Just gets better with time, doesn't it, honey?" he asked, smiling at me, touching my cheek.

"I'll go change," I said.

"I'll pour drinks and get dinner on."

I dashed inside long enough to undress and pull on the trunks. Farley stayed out on the patio with Donald, I suspect because he smelled food. When I went back out there, there were mai tais and a pupu platter on the table.

"How did you do this?" I asked, taking the drink he handed me.

"Oh, I just whipped up a few things."

"Donald," I prodded, laughing as he stuck a shrimp in my mouth.

"Oh, all right. I found a gourmet restaurant that delivers, and they had a Hawaiian luau package on their menu." He put a piece of rumaki in his mouth.

We toasted our drinks and enjoyed our food, feeding each other and stealing kisses, the strains of steel drum music in the background, the fans creating a breeze that kept our awning-shaded haven reasonably comfortable. Farley was sprawled on the patio, napping, his snoring almost drowned out by the music. He'd insisted on a couple of handouts, and once he decided Hawaiian cuisine wasn't to his tastes, he found a cool spot in the path of a fan and dozed off.

The sky turned beautiful shades of pink and blue and orange as the sun set, and we watched the colors change cuddled together in a chaise lounge chair, eating chunks of pineapple and mango and other tropical fruits. I laughed.

"What's going on in that gorgeous head of yours now?" he asked, licking some pineapple juice off his finger. I watched his long lashes as he looked down into our shared fruit bowl to find something else succulent to nibble on. I fought getting lost in just watching him instead of the sunset. I kissed his cheek.

"I was thinking about Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz," I said, and he chuckled.

"O-kay," he replied, still grinning. "Anything in particular? Because if you want me to dress up in a blue checkered dress and hair ribbons, I'll need more notice, and about six more mai tais."

"No, but thanks for that mental image," I replied, laughing. I noticed that since the sun had moved, it was starting to get close to his shoulder. I always watch out for that beautiful fair skin of his, that he doesn't get burned, that he has sun screen on. "I remember her saying that happiness was in her own backyard. I can't believe how many hours...weeks I spent structuring every element of this yard, and I never really saw it the way you did, when you put this together tonight."

"How do you mean?" he asked, but he was smiling, looking pleased that I liked what he'd done. Sometimes, I can almost forget how much Donald would do to please me, how much he loves to make me happy. I know how lucky I am, and it has nothing to do with a fancy garden behind a beautiful house that we call home, with luxuries we've worked hard for and created together. I could be sitting cuddled up with him on a ratty old couch in a one-room studio apartment, and I'd be the richest man in the world. He's such a gift, and the way he loves me is something dreams are made of.

"I mapped all this out, planned every inch of it, spent God knows how long with my nose buried in gardening books and looking at garden photos online until I thought my eyes would bleed, and I still didn't see it. I saw a nicely engineered garden that I could look out at from the air conditioning on a hot night. You looked at it, and you saw paradise, and that's what you gave me, for no good reason, in the middle of the week, on our eight year and five month anniversary."

"No, that's in a couple weeks," he said, licking that finger again, grinning. I took his hand and sucked on that finger, having had enough of watching him do it.

He set the fruit bowl aside, and we put the lounge chair all the way flat. We kissed and caressed each other, the fact it was a little too hot and we were getting a little too sweaty just goading us on. He pulled my shorts down and I did the same to his, and we just lay there and stroked each other, getting hard, kissing, sucking at each other's nipples, kissing all the chest we could reach. We managed to change positions somehow, so I was on my stomach and he was on top of me.

I was expecting him to get me ready and slip inside me, but I felt something else instead. Something cool being run down the length of my spine, being pressed at the base of it, something trickling between my cheeks. And then his tongue was there, tracing the path of juice, licking it slowly and deliberately off my back, from shoulders to tail bone, gently parting my cheeks and licking the juice that had dribbled between them. His tongue took the juice but frustratingly danced over my center without pausing there long. I finally figured out it was a pineapple chunk, and that he was painting trails down my back with pieces of fruit and licking his way along the juice paths, making "mm" sounds as he did it.

Heaven, and even sex itself, couldn't be any better than the feeling of his tongue on my skin, of lying there while he played with me and teased me and worshiped me instead of just taking me. As considerate and loving as he was, Donald never spent this long doing something he didn't enjoy, and that turned me on even more, to know he was loving this as much as I was.

Just when I thought I'd come from the feeling of his mouth on me alone, he nuzzled and kissed the back of my neck while he eased some lube inside me, and then he was there, moving into me gently, just lying there inside me, kissing my back and my shoulders, running his hands up and down my arms, sniffing my neck and my hair, which I found more erotic than I would have ever expected.

"Love you, baby," he whispered, and then he started moving inside me.

I held onto the edges of the lounge chair, arching my back, little cries escaping with each thrust. It felt so good, and I was so turned on, and I loved him so much that I wanted him moving inside me forever. He must have known that, because he was taking his time, prolonging it, not quite giving my prostate what it really wanted just yet, so he could let me revel in what I really wanted. Him in me, close to me, all around me, until our world was reduced to just the intensity and closeness of our joined bodies.

Then his arms slid under mine, and he held onto my shoulders, and he was moving faster and his thrusts were just enough harder to make me writhe and shout and forget I was outside or that I ever had a shred of composure or decorum about me. I was humping the chair, gripping it for dear life, wantonly wriggling under him trying to get the most out of every thrust, trying to be sure he got as deep as he wanted to go, that my prostate didn't miss a second of it. I wanted him to stop and yet go faster, to leave my prostate alone and yet rub over it until I went insane. I hoped the steel drum CD was loud enough and that the lawnmower I could just barely hear from next door was enough, because his last few thrusts had me completely undone, gasping, shouting, and finally crying out his name as I came in a climax that felt like it went on forever in waves of ecstasy that, when they were over, left me in a boneless heap on the chair.

We shifted on our sides and started kissing, and the sun was down and it was getting dark by the time we came up for air.

"Gotta light the torches, sweetheart," he said, kissing me, looking into my eyes just like he always does after we make love. It's like I can see into his soul, and he's looking right into mine. "Can't have mosquitos bothering my baby, now can I?" he teased, smiling, kissing me again. "If anybody's gonna suck on that beautiful body of yours, it's gonna be me, not bugs," he added, touching my cheek, kissing me again. Then he got up and lit the torches.

Ordinarily, I'd have felt compelled to grab a robe or cover up somehow, but this was our night in paradise, no one could see us in our tree-shaded corner of the world. My body was singing with sensations, and I could still feel the tingling inside me, the moisture of his come between my cheeks. So I lay there naked, on my side, head propped on my hand, watching the light of the torches turn his bare body a magical dancing gold color. He was so beautiful walking around with nothing on, every inch of that body toned to perfection, that long, generous cock lax now with satisfaction, slick and shiny from our sex.

He selected a big orange lily from one of the plants and picked it for me, and I didn't even care that it wasn't a plant I'd usually take blooms from - after all, it was part of that perfectly engineered garden that he'd turned into paradise. And in paradise, any blooms were fair game, especially when you were going to present one to your lover upon your return so you could resume making incredible love in the torch light.

We didn't need any words, and I held onto my flower while we held each other, kissing some more, making more use of the well-used bowl of fruit, until he lay on his side with his back to me so I could prepare him. I indulged in touching and tasting and loving every bit of that amazing body, soaking up the taste and the scent of him, not wanting to give him any less of a prelude than he'd given me. Sinking into him, watching my cock slip between those beautiful cheeks, I wrapped myself around him, rubbed his chest and his belly, pinched and rubbed his nipples the way I knew he liked it, teased him with slow, languid strokes, took him in my hand while I moved in and out of him, sucked little passion marks onto his neck and shoulder, finally speeding up to the pace I knew he loved, that drove him over the edge, until we were both coming.

He stroked my hip and encouraged me to stay there, in him, spooned around him. I knew he loved this position, loved being tucked in the curve of my body where he fit more perfectly than if we were nesting dolls.

We dozed a while, not coming around until we heard a loud splash. We both raised our heads about the same time, and laughed when we saw Farley splashing around in the water, apparently deciding that his humans had been ignoring him way too long. So we got up and jumped in the water, alternately playing with Farley and a beach ball that was bobbing around on the water, and making out a little more in between.

When Farley had his fill and ambled out of the pool, shaking and sending a spray of water for what seemed like miles around him, and then went off to heed the call of nature, we got out of the pool and went inside to do the same. It had cooled down a bit, so we put on robes and Don turned on the lanterns and changed CD's while I mixed us a couple martinis.

The music was slow and romantic, and as we danced there on the patio in our robes and bare feet, I smiled at the lyrics, and touched my head to Donald's, and I didn't care if they ever fixed the air conditioner.

The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming.
My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?
I bring you and sing you a Moonlight Serenade.

Let us stray till break of day
in love's valley of dreams.
Just you and I, a summer sky,
a heavenly breeze kissing the trees...