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rareslash*waves* First post here, after quietly lurking for some time. I come bearing something I've never seen anywhere before. :)
Title: The Game
Author: Penumbren
Website: Shadows of the Moon
Character(s): Lamont Cranston, The Shadow
Content: pretty explicit m/m interaction
Disclaimer: All the property of Conde Nash, the jealous bastards. Let's hope they get this next movie right.
Distribution: please ask first
Rating: NC-17 (probably)
Summary: Lamont has a visitor.
Author's Notes: Okay. This is NOT based on the 1994 movie The Shadow. It's based on the original pulp fiction stories that were written in the 1930s and 40s, and includes the little-known fact that Lamont Cranston was not, in fact, The Shadow. (The Shadow was Kent Allard, a long-thought-dead ace pilot who took Cranston's place whenever it suited him.) I won't be entirely surprised if this isn't the only Shadow fic I write, even if 99% of the small amount of the population who've ever read the original stories would be drop-dead horrified at the very idea.
Lamont Cranston was a light sleeper.
Even as a child, he'd been prone to waking up at the slightest noise, from the maid tip-toeing down the hall late at night to the lightest rubbing of branches against his window. That peculiarity of nature had served him well in later life.
Waking up to the thrill of adrenaline, his fingers closing over the rifle close by his side, knowing that a lion was only feet away... The close call during his last safari on the wild plains of Africa had nothing on the jolt of excitement that shot through him now. Long years of practice kept his eyes from flickering open and his breathing steady. Any casual observer would believe him still sound asleep.
"Lamont Cranston... you are no actor."
Sighing, Lamont opened his eyes and turned his head, propping it on one hand as he scanned the darkened room, looking for any sign of the man he knew was there... the man who was definitely not a casual observer.
"I've never claimed to be anything but myself," he retorted. "Unlike you."
A soft laugh floated toward him, and he sensed rather than saw the movement that brought the owner of the voice to the foot of his bed.
"I, who claim to be anyone but myself." The quiet voice was distinctly amused, and Lamont shook his head, an undignified snort his only response. The voice continued, "I, who am you."
"When it suits your purposes," he agreed, his voice careless, not deigning to sit up. This was a conversation that he'd had before, and although he would never claim to be tired of it, it wasn't the conversation he wished to have. It was distinctly likely that he wouldn't have the satisfaction of getting what he wanted; only rarely did his nocturnal visitor allow him the privilege. That didn't stop him from scanning the shadows around the heavy footboard, his imagination filling in the shape that he more than likely would only glimpse in passing tonight.
"It would suit my purposes eminently were you to take an extended trip to visit your investments in Europe," the voice said. Lamont flopped back onto the bed, crossing his arms beneath his head, and shut his eyes.
"I just got home, remember? That African safari that you so pointedly suggested while you were dealing with some sort of chemical corporation?"
"Not that anyone realised you were gone," came the response. "So no one will notice when you are gone again."
"I think you're growing too fond of my face," Lamont said wryly, already knowing that the argument was lost.
The expected sharp reply didn't come. Disappointed for reasons he wasn't going to admit to himself, he let out a long breath. Gone already. Even for his mysterious visitor, that was a record. Usually he was willing to at least banter for longer than a few minutes. Trying to push away other memories, he considered the best route to take. If he began with London, he could spend at least a week circling the social scene and visiting with business contacts before moving on to the Continent. Probably a minimum of a month or two abroad would be best.
"How did I ever get myself into this?" he murmured, wondering what Margo would think if she knew the truth. Suppressing an unamused laugh, he amended that to 'truths', since he rather suspected that there were things about him that she would find far more shocking than the fact that he was The Shadow. Or, rather, the fact that he wasn't.
"You agreed to the bargain."
Lamont's eyes snapped open. "I thought you'd left."
"Not yet."
The silence stretched into long moments as Lamont waited. Finally, out of patience, he turned his head, fully expecting to see nothing but his empty room.
The dark eyes inches away from his stopped his irritated words before they began. His breathing quickened as a combination of anticipation and dread twisted through him, the sheer fact of the continued presence drawing a thread of hope through the tangle of emotions.
"You're right."
Frowning slightly, Lamont opened his mouth, only to shut it again at the strange flash in the eyes that hadn't left his.
"I am too fond of your face." A gentle touch trailing down his cheek took his breath away, the light caress all it took for desire to sweep over him, his body tightening from the sudden surge. Another laugh, this time close enough for him to feel the breath on his face, and he licked dry lips in an unconscious movement. A soft hiss, and lips covered his with bruising force, the kiss harsh and demanding. Yielding willingly, he moaned into the mouth ravishing his, reveling in the fierceness of it. The barely-there stubble scraping against his chin only added to the pleasure. This was what he'd hoped for, longed for... hadn't dared to ask for. Whatever else their original bargain may have included, this---whatever this was---hadn't been part of it.
Only when he was released, his breath coming in pants, did he realise that he'd sunk fingers into his mattress nearly deep enough to tear it in an effort to keep from reaching out for the other man. The rules to this game were always unspoken, always changing, and always in the other's favour. He was never sure what was allowed, or wanted, and so he tried to hold himself back, not wishing to end things by breaking one of the unknown rules.
A finger tracing his swollen lips sent shivers through him, and he forced himself not to reach out, to wait for some hint of permission. Watching the face so close to his, still wrapped in shadows, Lamont found himself wondering what kept drawing them together like this. It broke all the rules of society, all the expectations of his upbringing, challenged the morality he'd been taught. And he didn't care. Maybe it was the lure of the forbidden, the addiction to taboo, but he craved this like he craved nothing else.
"Lamont..." The edge of desire, so foreign to that voice, made him shiver again. "Are you--"
"Please," he breathed, interrupting the needless question. His eyes swept over the other's face again, wondering, as he always did, if it was just another mask or if he was allowed to see the truth.
Any other thoughts were swept aside as those lips covered his again, taking possession of his mouth with a ruthless efficiency. This time he allowed himself to reach up, curling his fingers around firm shoulders, the dark cloth covering them not hiding the strength in the body it cloaked. He was dimly aware of the blankets that covered him being pushed aside, but was too caught up in returning the fierce kiss to notice anything else. This time when they separated, he growled, following the other upward until he was sitting upright, his feet on the floor.
"Don't play with me," he warned, his voice rough. "Not tonight."
The mild surprise on the face in front of him was quickly chased away by a wicked curve of the lips, the dark eyes sparking dangerously. "Why not? I thought this was just a game." The light words were belied by the unmistakable desire edging them. Lamont's eyes narrowed.
"If it's just a game, why do you keep coming back when you already know that you'll win?" Challenging words, but part of him quailed. It was only the truth: He had no more chance of standing up against this dark temptation than the sun did of not rising in the morning. Only for this man, the mysterious figure who held so much control over his life, would he risk so much. God help him if this game ever ended.
The silence brought dread to Lamont's heart and he regretted his impulsive words; too much honesty was never good when one was as entangled in shadows as he was.
After too many moments, a slight smile crossed the lips, allowing Lamont to relax. At least he hadn't driven him away. Lamont watched as his visitor stood, his eyes never leaving Lamont's. The trademark slouch hat was dropped on the chair beside his desk, revealing short black hair. Gloves were peeled off and dropped alongside the hat, followed by the long cape, which puddled on the floor. Lamont licked his lips again, all too aware of the heat singing along his nerves, his erection thick and heavy between his legs. The rest of the dark costume followed the cape piece by piece until his visitor stood nude before him. He couldn't stop the soft moan at the sight, or his hand from reaching out, running his fingers over the sharp curve of a hip, tracing the scars left by too many adventures. A harsh groan was his reward, and he pulled the other man towards him, overcome by the need to touch, to taste... to prove to himself that this wasn't another dream.
Leaning forward, wondering if he would be allowed to do this, Lamont took a breath, then ran his tongue up the straining length, his other hand coming up to cup the soft sac beneath. A musky flavour exploded over his tongue even as another groan and a strangled word that might have been his name escaped the other's lips, and he couldn't wait any more. He slid his lips down, taking the hard shaft into his mouth until he gagged. Growling with frustration, he shifted his position and lowered his head farther, reveling in the guttural sounds his actions produced. One hand twisting in his hair, directing him, only spurred him on, his rising lust obvious in the sharp movements of his head as he sucked and licked, his own need forgotten when a sharp, salty taste spread across his mouth.
Almost triumphant at this proof of the effect he had on the other man, Lamont growled again, feeling the fingers clench on the back of his head before roughly tugging him away. Thwarted in his intent, Lamont's whine wasn't lost on the other, who smiled thinly.
"Another time, Lamont." It was almost a promise, and Lamont seized on the possibilities inherent in the words. "For now, however..."
He blinked as he was pulled to his feet, only realising that his silk pajamas had been stripped off of him when his aching shaft rubbed up against his visitor's, still slick with his spittle. A startled moan spilled out of his mouth, his hips moving instinctively to repeat the delicious friction. Slender fingers tightened on his hips, holding him steady for an instant before pushing him away, back towards the bed. He collapsed onto it when his knees hit the mattress. The other man moved deliberately, slowly, between his legs, and he whimpered, feeling like he was about to go up in flames.
"Something you wanted?" The voice was mocking now, but Lamont heard the hoarseness and ignored the taunt, instead fumbling with the bedside table to get the drawer open. His fingers closing around the small jar, he held it up. Scrambling backward, further onto the mattress, as the jar was taken out of his hand, he knelt, ready for the next step. Fingers closing on his shoulder, turning him around with an oddly gentle touch, had him blinking in surprise.
"Not this time." The fingers rose up to his face, cupping his chin for an instant. "I want to see your face." Confused by the unexpected twist to their infrequent game, he allowed himself to be pushed over backwards, onto his back. Raising up on his elbows, he watched as the other man positioned himself between his spread legs, kneeling as he unscrewed the lid of the jar. Tossing the lid onto the jumbled blankets at the foot of the bed, Lamont's visitor scooped out some of the soft lotion from the jar and coated his fingers.
Meeting Lamont's gaze, he leaned forward, rubbing their shafts together again, and kissed him. It was a gentler kiss than normal, and the sheer unexpectedness of it kept Lamont from noticing what his visitor was doing, until a warm, slick finger slid into him. Throwing his head back against his pillow with a gasp, Lamont could only moan as the first finger was joined by another, and another, until his hips were arching against the slick firmness. But it wasn't what he wanted. What he needed.
"God... please..." he gasped, reaching out blindly. Long fingers tangled in his and he cried out as the stretching fingers were withdrawn. Half-heard words filtered through the sound of the racing heartbeat echoing in his ears were his only warning. One sharp thrust, and his voice broke as he was filled with the hard heat that he'd been craving. He could already feel the aches, his body not used to this, but he ignored it. Lamont twisted his hips, and the voice above him swore even as he groaned at the change of angle. Quick movements now, his hips matching every thrust, and he reached down to grasp his throbbing shaft, only to have his hand batted away, strong slender fingers wrapping around him instead, stroking in time with their pistoning hips. He couldn't take much more of this, not with the months of frustrated longing and abstinence, and he forced his eyes open, meeting the gaze of the other man, the dark eyes watching him with an almost frightening intensity.
"Can't... God..." Lamont grated, feeling the orgasm rise up inside him, his fingers white-knuckled against the other's, and then he was arching up as he let out an inarticulate growl, his other hand clenching on a shoulder that shuddered at the touch. One last squeeze of those fingers, and his breath was stolen away, white heat exploding through his body as he came. He was aware of a muffled exclamation from the other, and a sudden sweet pain as teeth closed together on the flesh of his shoulder, the other man stiffening with his own release.
When he finally came back to himself, Lamont was surprised to find the other man still lying atop him, weight distributed on elbows, watching him. He could still feel the other inside him, and wondered if... but no. Apparently satisfied that Lamont was still among the living, his visitor carefully withdrew, and Lamont just as carefully bit back the whimper that wanted to escape.
Instead, he watched silently as the other used a damp handkerchief, both water and cloth appropriated from the top of his dresser, to clean himself off before dressing again.
Turning to face Lamont as he pulled the hat down over his eyes, Lamont could hear the amused mockery in his voice as he said, "Don't you look quite the debauched pervert. What would your society fellows say if they only knew the truth?"
"I doubt many of them would be surprised," he replied dryly, not taking the sharp words to heart. A crooked smile was the only reply, and even though Lamont would swear he hadn't taken his eyes off his visitor, the other man was gone. Lost in the shadows. He sighed, more melancholy than he would ever admit to, and reached for the discarded handkerchief. Cleaning himself up took only moments, and he tossed the cloth in the hamper. Eyeing the pajamas that lay crumpled on the floor, he decided not to bother, and returned to bed, pulling the blankets up to ward off the night's chill.
~fin~
Title: The Game
Author: Penumbren
Website: Shadows of the Moon
Character(s): Lamont Cranston, The Shadow
Content: pretty explicit m/m interaction
Disclaimer: All the property of Conde Nash, the jealous bastards. Let's hope they get this next movie right.
Distribution: please ask first
Rating: NC-17 (probably)
Summary: Lamont has a visitor.
Author's Notes: Okay. This is NOT based on the 1994 movie The Shadow. It's based on the original pulp fiction stories that were written in the 1930s and 40s, and includes the little-known fact that Lamont Cranston was not, in fact, The Shadow. (The Shadow was Kent Allard, a long-thought-dead ace pilot who took Cranston's place whenever it suited him.) I won't be entirely surprised if this isn't the only Shadow fic I write, even if 99% of the small amount of the population who've ever read the original stories would be drop-dead horrified at the very idea.
Lamont Cranston was a light sleeper.
Even as a child, he'd been prone to waking up at the slightest noise, from the maid tip-toeing down the hall late at night to the lightest rubbing of branches against his window. That peculiarity of nature had served him well in later life.
Waking up to the thrill of adrenaline, his fingers closing over the rifle close by his side, knowing that a lion was only feet away... The close call during his last safari on the wild plains of Africa had nothing on the jolt of excitement that shot through him now. Long years of practice kept his eyes from flickering open and his breathing steady. Any casual observer would believe him still sound asleep.
"Lamont Cranston... you are no actor."
Sighing, Lamont opened his eyes and turned his head, propping it on one hand as he scanned the darkened room, looking for any sign of the man he knew was there... the man who was definitely not a casual observer.
"I've never claimed to be anything but myself," he retorted. "Unlike you."
A soft laugh floated toward him, and he sensed rather than saw the movement that brought the owner of the voice to the foot of his bed.
"I, who claim to be anyone but myself." The quiet voice was distinctly amused, and Lamont shook his head, an undignified snort his only response. The voice continued, "I, who am you."
"When it suits your purposes," he agreed, his voice careless, not deigning to sit up. This was a conversation that he'd had before, and although he would never claim to be tired of it, it wasn't the conversation he wished to have. It was distinctly likely that he wouldn't have the satisfaction of getting what he wanted; only rarely did his nocturnal visitor allow him the privilege. That didn't stop him from scanning the shadows around the heavy footboard, his imagination filling in the shape that he more than likely would only glimpse in passing tonight.
"It would suit my purposes eminently were you to take an extended trip to visit your investments in Europe," the voice said. Lamont flopped back onto the bed, crossing his arms beneath his head, and shut his eyes.
"I just got home, remember? That African safari that you so pointedly suggested while you were dealing with some sort of chemical corporation?"
"Not that anyone realised you were gone," came the response. "So no one will notice when you are gone again."
"I think you're growing too fond of my face," Lamont said wryly, already knowing that the argument was lost.
The expected sharp reply didn't come. Disappointed for reasons he wasn't going to admit to himself, he let out a long breath. Gone already. Even for his mysterious visitor, that was a record. Usually he was willing to at least banter for longer than a few minutes. Trying to push away other memories, he considered the best route to take. If he began with London, he could spend at least a week circling the social scene and visiting with business contacts before moving on to the Continent. Probably a minimum of a month or two abroad would be best.
"How did I ever get myself into this?" he murmured, wondering what Margo would think if she knew the truth. Suppressing an unamused laugh, he amended that to 'truths', since he rather suspected that there were things about him that she would find far more shocking than the fact that he was The Shadow. Or, rather, the fact that he wasn't.
"You agreed to the bargain."
Lamont's eyes snapped open. "I thought you'd left."
"Not yet."
The silence stretched into long moments as Lamont waited. Finally, out of patience, he turned his head, fully expecting to see nothing but his empty room.
The dark eyes inches away from his stopped his irritated words before they began. His breathing quickened as a combination of anticipation and dread twisted through him, the sheer fact of the continued presence drawing a thread of hope through the tangle of emotions.
"You're right."
Frowning slightly, Lamont opened his mouth, only to shut it again at the strange flash in the eyes that hadn't left his.
"I am too fond of your face." A gentle touch trailing down his cheek took his breath away, the light caress all it took for desire to sweep over him, his body tightening from the sudden surge. Another laugh, this time close enough for him to feel the breath on his face, and he licked dry lips in an unconscious movement. A soft hiss, and lips covered his with bruising force, the kiss harsh and demanding. Yielding willingly, he moaned into the mouth ravishing his, reveling in the fierceness of it. The barely-there stubble scraping against his chin only added to the pleasure. This was what he'd hoped for, longed for... hadn't dared to ask for. Whatever else their original bargain may have included, this---whatever this was---hadn't been part of it.
Only when he was released, his breath coming in pants, did he realise that he'd sunk fingers into his mattress nearly deep enough to tear it in an effort to keep from reaching out for the other man. The rules to this game were always unspoken, always changing, and always in the other's favour. He was never sure what was allowed, or wanted, and so he tried to hold himself back, not wishing to end things by breaking one of the unknown rules.
A finger tracing his swollen lips sent shivers through him, and he forced himself not to reach out, to wait for some hint of permission. Watching the face so close to his, still wrapped in shadows, Lamont found himself wondering what kept drawing them together like this. It broke all the rules of society, all the expectations of his upbringing, challenged the morality he'd been taught. And he didn't care. Maybe it was the lure of the forbidden, the addiction to taboo, but he craved this like he craved nothing else.
"Lamont..." The edge of desire, so foreign to that voice, made him shiver again. "Are you--"
"Please," he breathed, interrupting the needless question. His eyes swept over the other's face again, wondering, as he always did, if it was just another mask or if he was allowed to see the truth.
Any other thoughts were swept aside as those lips covered his again, taking possession of his mouth with a ruthless efficiency. This time he allowed himself to reach up, curling his fingers around firm shoulders, the dark cloth covering them not hiding the strength in the body it cloaked. He was dimly aware of the blankets that covered him being pushed aside, but was too caught up in returning the fierce kiss to notice anything else. This time when they separated, he growled, following the other upward until he was sitting upright, his feet on the floor.
"Don't play with me," he warned, his voice rough. "Not tonight."
The mild surprise on the face in front of him was quickly chased away by a wicked curve of the lips, the dark eyes sparking dangerously. "Why not? I thought this was just a game." The light words were belied by the unmistakable desire edging them. Lamont's eyes narrowed.
"If it's just a game, why do you keep coming back when you already know that you'll win?" Challenging words, but part of him quailed. It was only the truth: He had no more chance of standing up against this dark temptation than the sun did of not rising in the morning. Only for this man, the mysterious figure who held so much control over his life, would he risk so much. God help him if this game ever ended.
The silence brought dread to Lamont's heart and he regretted his impulsive words; too much honesty was never good when one was as entangled in shadows as he was.
After too many moments, a slight smile crossed the lips, allowing Lamont to relax. At least he hadn't driven him away. Lamont watched as his visitor stood, his eyes never leaving Lamont's. The trademark slouch hat was dropped on the chair beside his desk, revealing short black hair. Gloves were peeled off and dropped alongside the hat, followed by the long cape, which puddled on the floor. Lamont licked his lips again, all too aware of the heat singing along his nerves, his erection thick and heavy between his legs. The rest of the dark costume followed the cape piece by piece until his visitor stood nude before him. He couldn't stop the soft moan at the sight, or his hand from reaching out, running his fingers over the sharp curve of a hip, tracing the scars left by too many adventures. A harsh groan was his reward, and he pulled the other man towards him, overcome by the need to touch, to taste... to prove to himself that this wasn't another dream.
Leaning forward, wondering if he would be allowed to do this, Lamont took a breath, then ran his tongue up the straining length, his other hand coming up to cup the soft sac beneath. A musky flavour exploded over his tongue even as another groan and a strangled word that might have been his name escaped the other's lips, and he couldn't wait any more. He slid his lips down, taking the hard shaft into his mouth until he gagged. Growling with frustration, he shifted his position and lowered his head farther, reveling in the guttural sounds his actions produced. One hand twisting in his hair, directing him, only spurred him on, his rising lust obvious in the sharp movements of his head as he sucked and licked, his own need forgotten when a sharp, salty taste spread across his mouth.
Almost triumphant at this proof of the effect he had on the other man, Lamont growled again, feeling the fingers clench on the back of his head before roughly tugging him away. Thwarted in his intent, Lamont's whine wasn't lost on the other, who smiled thinly.
"Another time, Lamont." It was almost a promise, and Lamont seized on the possibilities inherent in the words. "For now, however..."
He blinked as he was pulled to his feet, only realising that his silk pajamas had been stripped off of him when his aching shaft rubbed up against his visitor's, still slick with his spittle. A startled moan spilled out of his mouth, his hips moving instinctively to repeat the delicious friction. Slender fingers tightened on his hips, holding him steady for an instant before pushing him away, back towards the bed. He collapsed onto it when his knees hit the mattress. The other man moved deliberately, slowly, between his legs, and he whimpered, feeling like he was about to go up in flames.
"Something you wanted?" The voice was mocking now, but Lamont heard the hoarseness and ignored the taunt, instead fumbling with the bedside table to get the drawer open. His fingers closing around the small jar, he held it up. Scrambling backward, further onto the mattress, as the jar was taken out of his hand, he knelt, ready for the next step. Fingers closing on his shoulder, turning him around with an oddly gentle touch, had him blinking in surprise.
"Not this time." The fingers rose up to his face, cupping his chin for an instant. "I want to see your face." Confused by the unexpected twist to their infrequent game, he allowed himself to be pushed over backwards, onto his back. Raising up on his elbows, he watched as the other man positioned himself between his spread legs, kneeling as he unscrewed the lid of the jar. Tossing the lid onto the jumbled blankets at the foot of the bed, Lamont's visitor scooped out some of the soft lotion from the jar and coated his fingers.
Meeting Lamont's gaze, he leaned forward, rubbing their shafts together again, and kissed him. It was a gentler kiss than normal, and the sheer unexpectedness of it kept Lamont from noticing what his visitor was doing, until a warm, slick finger slid into him. Throwing his head back against his pillow with a gasp, Lamont could only moan as the first finger was joined by another, and another, until his hips were arching against the slick firmness. But it wasn't what he wanted. What he needed.
"God... please..." he gasped, reaching out blindly. Long fingers tangled in his and he cried out as the stretching fingers were withdrawn. Half-heard words filtered through the sound of the racing heartbeat echoing in his ears were his only warning. One sharp thrust, and his voice broke as he was filled with the hard heat that he'd been craving. He could already feel the aches, his body not used to this, but he ignored it. Lamont twisted his hips, and the voice above him swore even as he groaned at the change of angle. Quick movements now, his hips matching every thrust, and he reached down to grasp his throbbing shaft, only to have his hand batted away, strong slender fingers wrapping around him instead, stroking in time with their pistoning hips. He couldn't take much more of this, not with the months of frustrated longing and abstinence, and he forced his eyes open, meeting the gaze of the other man, the dark eyes watching him with an almost frightening intensity.
"Can't... God..." Lamont grated, feeling the orgasm rise up inside him, his fingers white-knuckled against the other's, and then he was arching up as he let out an inarticulate growl, his other hand clenching on a shoulder that shuddered at the touch. One last squeeze of those fingers, and his breath was stolen away, white heat exploding through his body as he came. He was aware of a muffled exclamation from the other, and a sudden sweet pain as teeth closed together on the flesh of his shoulder, the other man stiffening with his own release.
When he finally came back to himself, Lamont was surprised to find the other man still lying atop him, weight distributed on elbows, watching him. He could still feel the other inside him, and wondered if... but no. Apparently satisfied that Lamont was still among the living, his visitor carefully withdrew, and Lamont just as carefully bit back the whimper that wanted to escape.
Instead, he watched silently as the other used a damp handkerchief, both water and cloth appropriated from the top of his dresser, to clean himself off before dressing again.
Turning to face Lamont as he pulled the hat down over his eyes, Lamont could hear the amused mockery in his voice as he said, "Don't you look quite the debauched pervert. What would your society fellows say if they only knew the truth?"
"I doubt many of them would be surprised," he replied dryly, not taking the sharp words to heart. A crooked smile was the only reply, and even though Lamont would swear he hadn't taken his eyes off his visitor, the other man was gone. Lost in the shadows. He sighed, more melancholy than he would ever admit to, and reached for the discarded handkerchief. Cleaning himself up took only moments, and he tossed the cloth in the hamper. Eyeing the pajamas that lay crumpled on the floor, he decided not to bother, and returned to bed, pulling the blankets up to ward off the night's chill.
~fin~
