Okay, Carl thought, ‘made love’ might be too sentimental, but he refused to call it fucking. He relished the heat and ache of his skin when James touched him. He felt as if he'd spent his whole life asleep and was just now coming awake. Every part of him was hypersensitive to the fingers roaming his body. Hell, even James’ breath on his chest brought the hairs up on his arms. Bathing took some time because a shower was out of the question. The bath water felt good though and his lover told him to relax and enjoy. He could not believe how much his legs wobbled when they went to bed, at last. He did not remember hitting the bed. Stirring to the smell of coffee and the sight of James sitting in the easy chair by the windows, Carl was beginning to appreciate all the natural light that filled every room in the house. He watched his lover stare out into the yard in a rare moment of meditation. “Why are there no windows in the playroom?” He received a droll look. “Ever the reporter.”
