“Hmm?” Oliver murmured. He lay in the bed this morning, arms stretched up behind his neck, his eyes still heavy and his skin crawling deliciously. Marc’s hands were brushing slowly, in a steady, tantalizing rhythm, back and forth between his balls and his entrance. His legs started to fall open; his thighs tensed up in anticipation. His skin felt raw, his body open to complete vulnerability. Dreamily, he thought that although a climax was the most important objective of his life at this very moment, he was almost afraid of it – of its promised poignancy. He knew what Marc could do to him, in this mood.

But Marc was still slow to progress the caresses. “You’re too impatient,” he chided. “Let me spend time on you – let the both of us enjoy it. Besides, I’ve got a gift for you! Let me show it to you – then I’ll be more than happy to oblige your sex on demand.”

Impatient? Oliver groaned. Like hell he was! The expectation was already curling in his groin – the skin of his balls was wrinkling in Marc’s palm; his cock bobbed on his stomach, angry with frustration. It was never the most tolerant of his organs. “We said no gifts!” he complained, halfheartedly. “I don’t want anything from you except this…”

Marc only laughed again. He dipped his head down to Oliver’s groin, his breath tickling at the damp curls. His thick, wet tongue licked at Oliver’s cock in a languid, sensual way that matched Oliver’s own sleepiness. It felt casual; it felt careless – but Oliver knew better. It was a touch he loved, as Marc knew only too well. He felt the rush of oncoming climax seeping through every one of his pores; he felt the shaking of his muscles, all along his legs. He was never very self-controlled in the mornings, but there was something very uninhibited about their lovemaking today, as if the drowsiness that clung to his limbs had made him physically weak, stealing what little discipline he may have had. At the last second, his back arched up off the mattress and he clutched at Marc’s hair, pushing him down on to his cock and pleading to finish inside his mouth. He yelled Marc’s name – the echo bounced off the wall behind the bed, ringing in his ears.

When his heart stopped its hammering, he released Marc’s hair and pulled gently away from his lover. Marc was laughing again; Oliver had felt an extra, teasing vibration around his cock as he came.

“Impatient,” Marc murmured, licking his lips, his eyes shining with triumph, “and fast!”

Oliver stretched out a little on the bed, sated and smug, and still struggling fitfully against his unusual sluggishness. Marc nuzzled against his belly, teasing his navel with his tongue, still keen to torment. Oliver sighed, and wondered how long it’d be before he could get hard again. There’d been a fantastically rich feel to his last orgasm; there were still shudders riding the shaft; still memories in the nerve endings of its clenching and spurting.

“That good, eh?” Marc’s smile pressed against his skin.

Oliver smiled back. His lover read his expressions too well. “Yes, it was, you arrogant man. What time is it?” His query was idle, but something about the angle of the light through the bedroom curtains alerted him. He twisted his head to the bedside table. “Hey! Where’s the clock?” There was no answer from Marc, except a murmur of his lips against Oliver’s groin. Oliver wriggled his hips, to distract him from his caresses – to get his attention. There was this new puzzle to discuss.

“Marc, someone’s taken the clock!”

“Damned fuss,” Marc murmured. He rolled one of Oliver’s soft sacs into his mouth, balancing it gently on his tongue. “I took it. Hush now. You don’t need to know the time…not today…”

Oliver winced as Marc nipped playfully at the soft skin under his balls. It sent a twinge of fresh desire all the way through his groin, and Marc knew it did. He was very inventive – he had a talent for the word ‘greed’ himself. Of course Oliver would like to spend more time this morning with him, but…

He sighed, reluctantly. “Don’t be a fool. This is great, of course it is, but – there’s that conference call I have to take at eight thirty. I can do it all from the home office, here, the guys are coming in with some papers for me, but I can’t miss it. Just that call, Marc… then I’m all yours, okay?”

Marc ignored him. He shifted, running his mouth back up to Oliver’s belly, his teeth scraping teasingly against the soft skin and making Oliver groan with pleasure. He wasn’t giving up, any time soon. He wriggled out of his boxers, the mattress dipping underneath them as he moved.

Oliver’s heart started to speed up again. He lifted a lethargic arm, grasping at anything within reach, in some ridiculous attempt at anchorage. His fingers raked through his hair, and he was mildly surprised to find it damp. He didn’t remember getting up earlier to wash it. Or did he? His mind was – obviously, deliciously – preoccupied at the moment. Marc nibbled at the junction of skin between his armpit and his torso, and Oliver sighed with pure, languorous pleasure. He could feel the heat and the swollen size of Marc’s cock, rubbing against his leg. Now who was impatient? Oliver arched his body up under the suckling motions; Ahhh, he thought, let’s both surrender, okay? He wanted Marc to hurry up and penetrate him, because the ache was beginning again, deep between his legs…

Oliver twisted his head to the side, peering at his outstretched arm, looking for his watch – and that had gone, too! He opened his mouth to protest again – then he caught sight of the ends of hair tangled around his clenched fingers.

He felt a cold wash of shock; things started to unravel. His hair, his hair…it should have been a handful of blond; a few unruly curls. Instead, it was damp on his shoulders, soft with the smell of his shampoo – and the familiarity was gone.

It was brown!