Swallowed up in a cocoon of cotton, Ezra Standish dreamed dark and warm. There was softness, and a dampness that was pleasant in the still, still air. He dreamed blindly of the hand on his back, stroking him, and the body by his side. He dreamed to a rhythm, like the beating of a giant heart all around him; like floating in the womb. He smiled in his sleep.

And twitched. His limbs felt leaden, as if gravity were working overtime. He couldn't move but - back and forth - the caress against his skin convinced him that he didn't want to try.

A shiver slowly crept from the back of his neck down to the small of his back. The hand that took him over was large and strong and certain.

Josiah. The name rolled slowly as a prayer wheel through his mind.

Fingertips drawn up along his neck, brushing the skin behind his ear in lazy circles. He turned his head, feeling very small, wanting to sink into the pores of Josiah's skin.

Sand, he thought as a warm tickle slid over his skin.

Hot, then cold - a breath against his cheek; the taste of stale whiskey in the air. He swallowed as a soft rush of air pressed at his lips. A heartbeat passed. Then another breath, hot against his chin. The fuzzy outline of a word tried to slip from his ear to his mind, but faded somewhere along the way.

What?

Scraping, bleary, sore, he tried to open his eyes. Hazy.

Wrong.

Blurred, swimming, then nearly focusing. Oh.

Josiah was raised on one elbow, watching him with a sleepy grin; his hand still petted Ezra's back. Ezra blinked and tried to raise his head. Tried to remember why he was still in Josiah's bed.

Night.

"Ezra." A bass rumble, scratchy from sleep and drink.

He blearily wondered whether Josiah's voice tasted like it sounded, and moved his mouth around empty air. Frowned. His eyes were closed again. Why was he sleeping in Josiah's bed?

"Ezra." A whisper, a contented sigh.

A sudden chill raised gooseflesh along his arms and up the back of his neck. He shivered miserably until he puzzled out the source. Josiah had stretched his arm out across Ezra's shoulders, displacing the blankets. The chill of the room rushed in through a gap in the sheet. He squirmed, insinuating himself closer against Josiah's side. Josiah's arm tightened around him, and something hard nudged against Ezra's thigh. He was startled to hear a light snore - his own - startled enough to open his eyes again. Why was he so tired? He blinked furiously to clear his vision.

Josiah was sharing his pillow, regarding him solemnly.

Am I sick?

With great effort, Ezra shifted his gaze, looking past Josiah to the window.

"Foggy," he remembered Josiah saying somewhere between the bottle of scotch and falling into bed. Outside, the sky was perfectly opaque, save for a shimmery patch where the light of a streetlamp seemed to reflect back on itself in midair.

Beautiful.

His lips had traced the word; or Josiah had kissed him.

His gaze lingered on the fog as he felt the damp press of kisses along his jaw. His mouth moved, brushing against breath, then skin, then hair, then air. Glutinous sky; Josiah's tongue left a brief spark, then warm ashes along Ezra's chest.

Spirals.

Shakily - his skeleton feeling warped and unfamiliar - Ezra pushed himself up, rolling backward to lay on his side.

Swaying...

He thought he tipped in one direction, the bed rushing upward to catch him, but Josiah's hand held him strong and fast. His lips were wet, kissed gently, a melting thing of fading whiskey and soft skin.

Sweet.

Good.

He heard a moan. The long, strong caresses moving down, squeezing his hip. Then - heaviness. Josiah's leg covered his own. Familiar, the weight that made him shift his own thighs to lock the two of them together like puzzle pieces. A sudden draft of cold shivered down his back as the warm covers slipped further away from his body. He shook.

Wet - Josiah's pressing sloppy kisses to his shoulder, the fog kissing damp on the windowpane.

Too foggy to drive home. The words dropped like stone into his mind, echoing as the dust settled.

Or had he been too foggy to drive home? The memory couldn't be forced, and he gave up when a pleasurable heat began to uncurl in his belly.

Rising - something like drowning as Josiah's hips rocked against his. He closed his eyes, shaping his lips around an incoherent sound. He held on - so sweet - his hands grasping damp skin and hard muscle.

Hard.

The mattress shifted beneath him, making him dizzy and lost.

So good. So warm and easy like breathing, but a thousand times more necessary. His lip pulsed; he'd bit it, or Josiah had. It hurt - enough for him to open his eyes and try to make some sense of what he saw: Josiah's face, eyes shut tight and lips parted, the fog at the window, darker now. There were almost shadows in the room.

His body tensed and melted, tensed and melted, over and over until he felt seasick. He clenched his fingers into Josiah's arm as he was roughly pulled closer. Their voices tangled together, low and muffled, and then Ezra sighed -

Quiet. Wet. Still.

He lay limp and boneless, and then let Josiah roll him into a loose embrace. He could feel the prickle as sweat began to cool on his body. A strong heartbeat lulled him back toward welcoming sleep. Ezra rubbed his cheek contentedly against Josiah's chest.

Tired.

He slipped slowly back toward his dreams, feeling warm and thick and sticky as honey.

Safe...and...

UP! his mind screamed an instant before his eyes flew open. His heart clawed its way up to his throat as he lay rigid and still, save for his eyes, which darted from side to side ... A tapping noise, another, another.

Rain.

Oh. He let out the breath that had been cowering in his throat. He lifted his head cautiously, and felt the beginnings of a blush when he realized he'd been using Josiah as a pillow.

He glanced to the window. Outside, the fog had broken, solidifying from hazy mist to stark grey clouds. Fat raindrops beat against the window in a quickly increasing staccato. Clear.

For a moment, Ezra watched the window with a ludicrous envy driven by his parched mouth. He suspected he was still very drunk. Carefully, and with all the concentration he could muster, he disentangled himself from Josiah's arms and shifted back on the bed. He stilled; quiet, as Josiah made a gruff testing noise deep in his throat, smacking his lips softly.

His fingers brushed against the dried tackiness that coated his belly. He looked back over to Josiah, inexplicably unsettled by the memory of recognizing Josiah's touch in the dark. Not a rational realization that he'd been with no one else in the last six months, no, but an innate awareness of the individual caress, the scent and the taste.

He considered gathering his clothes, heading out now that the fog had lifted, but had to abandon the notion then and there when the room began to spin. And he had to admit, the bed was seductive in its comfort...and it wouldn't hurt to have someone around to make coffee for the morning's hangover.

Ezra yawned. Against the window, the rain tapped a comfortingly steady song - precise.

He squirmed, suddenly finding the heat of Josiah's body unbearable. Cooler sheets chilled his dampened skin as he rolled over to the bed's furthest edge. He tried to convinced himself he was at home, alone. His exhausted body easily dragged his clearing mind down into sleep.

Outside, the rain continued steadily, unabated. The fog and all its languid mystery dissipated. It turned cold.