Dark and stormy the sky had finally given way to a shaft of weak sunshine that made the garden weep crystal tears from each heavy green frond. Connor crossed his arms across his chest; the chill kept slightly at bay by the warm fire behind, though it was hard to compete against the open window. He loved storms, always had; even at sea he would watch almost mesermized by their sheer power and magnificence. It humbled him in more ways than he could count and in doing so made him feel so alive. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he watched the sun sink behind another bank of dark clouds tingeing the sky in iridescent pink and he remembered a time half forgiven and long forgotten.

Memories he decided were the burden of those who knew conscience and understood the brevity of life. He lazily rubbed the muscles of his stomach and wondered where life would take him what it would offer him, and moreover was he man enough to grasp it, without hesitation? He doubted himself so often in these dark months as if life had given him every hurdle to cross at once and his strength was waning.

He needed something more, some completion, some forgiveness of the acts that had so cruelly used him and still he held silent. His grief a palpable presence in the oak lined study as he watched the movement of the storm out to sea. Leaving the land heaving and sobbing in its wake, he felt the first faint tremors of tears behind his eyes, tears and knew sadly would never be shed.

Peter watched from the door, the magazine he was about to return to its pile in the bookshelf dangled from his fingers. Connor was a bass relief of raw emotion and he was drawn to him, unwilling to break the mood, the introspection that caused the full lips to pout softly in his distress. The faraway look in his eyes as he watched the restless wind sweep the storm clear from their sight and the night darkened around them by inches. He shivered the open windows raising gooseflesh on his bare arms.

As another moan escaped his lips Peter moved trance-like towards the man by the window. So much love, so much pain. Didn’t Connor understand that what didn’t destroy them, made them stronger? Why the hurt? He couldn’t bare it and on coming up behind him he wrapped his arms around the pale cable knit sweater and pulled him back against his chest.

Long gentle fingers stroked down the column of neck and turned the face towards him, tracing the lips that drew him with a callused thumb and silencing the words that were destined to break the spell with the softest of kisses. Grey eyes met brown and understood. The complexities of life had left their mark, unerringly swamping them in their wake, heedless of the need each man had, desirous of its own empiric command and they bobbed around in the wake of such despair and high emotion that it was often possible to forget.

Connor had forgotten, the strong arms around him held him solid, the storm covering the light dusting of stars as he closed his eyes, the images swirling behind his eyes as Peter reached his hand under the jumper and stroked across warm furred skin. Tracing from pectoral to stomach and carding with feather-light strokes across his abdomen.

He had fought too long to hold the feelings in; becoming numb and unable to let go and Peter understood this. The gentle assault as he slowly worked at the button of the dark cord jeans and eased them open. Connor's fingers dug into his arms as he was drawn out into the cool night air, his overheated skin burning with desire as Peter worked his body like a fine instrument. He rocked slowly bumping his groin into Connor's backside and stroked in counterpoint as his lips traced the rapidly racing pulse in his lover's neck.

Without raising his lips he guided Connor's hand down to his weeping erection and looked over his shoulder as he began to stroke himself, Peter's hand firmly wrapped around his own. The sight shot through him like lightning as the peel of distant thunder underscored his own desire. His free hand slipped the jeans from slim hips as he dipped his fingers down the dark cleft and finally wrapped him in a warm heat. Connor moaned and Peter returned to the restless nibbling of his lover neck. Without breaking the contact of the mood Peter opened his fly and pressed his naked length against his lover and instinctively Connor parted his legs and lent forward as hands found his back and soothed the taut muscles. Peter drew him back flush against his body, his own member leaking and soothing the tight ring of muscle into submission as he slowly impaled himself and for a brief moment Connor stopped administering to his bodies needs. Resolutely Peter urged his hand back; his own hands ghosting across exposed skin of abdomen, stomach and up under the sweater to nipples.

The storm returned whirling back across the lawn and irregular flashes of lightning illuminated the pair by the window, liming the swaying bodies in celestial light as they danced together around their desire. Connor felt for the first time in a lifetime, the ice melting, as he gave himself up to his lover and to the storm that beat a soothing tattoo as the rain soaked the ground again. His back arched as Peter released his hold and anchored him solidly by the hips and whispered softly into his ear as he watched the dark shaft disappearing into the hot tightness of his own hand.

Words came and washed over him, of love, of beauty, of desire, of need, of power, of encouragement and he smiled as his lover changed his angle and hit that sweet hidden spot and began to hum against his throat.

And when he came it was with a stinging bite to the exposed neck that was quickly swabbed with a warm rough tongue. Connor felt himself falling, his desire coursing out of him and pulsing into him as he panted heavily and finally gave up the unequal challenge and screamed into the night.

Slipping free and wrapping him in long strong arms Peter sank gracefully to the floor, Connor pressed against his chest as he continued to look out over the night sky. The turmoil still writhed against the lightning but the peace that it invoked in him throbbed with the after affects of his body and he sagged, curled in the arms that loved him and held him firm.

"Better?" Peter finally asked breaking the spell that had woven itself around them.

"Yes. Thank you." Connor answered simply.

"No need. You know I've always thought you were beautiful, but against the storm and with that look in your eyes I've never had my breath stolen from me before."

Connor ducked his head and blushed. "You steal my breath each day." He finally admitted. "You make me feel."

Peter kissed the sweep of neck and settled in to watch the rest of the storm as Connor finally dozed in his arms, all reserves gone, all pain erased and his body laying prone in complete trust.

Peter smiled at a guilty pleasure; he too had always loved the storms.

Finis.