Some Enchanted Evening

(Dare Lugs to Share Hugs on Bear Rugs)

The fireplace gave the room a warm, toasty feeling. It wasn't particularly cold, yet, the weather of middle autumn still occasionally warm enough to allow for bare feet padding across the floor of the weekend getaway in upstate New York. The wooden floor was cold, a nice, sharp contrast to the fire-warmed air.

The bear skin rug laid out before the fire was, as always, an irresistible temptation. Less than half an hour after the door was unlocked and the two men had tramped in, setting their bags aside, they were here, partially nude, already entwined in each other's arms.

It was hardly surprising. This was the sort of getaway the little house had been designed for. Creature comforts and simple luxuries, decor geared towards comfort and romance and never actually setting foot outside to view the fantastic fall scenery.

They'd have seen the foliage on the drive up, anyhow, and again on the drive back home. For now, all that was required was a steady supply of logs, and lube.

There was a mirror hanging on the bathroom door, in one far corner of the single room. A bed tucked away in the opposite corner, and a basic kitchen and extremely sturdy dining room table in the third corner. The mirror, as the door stood now, gave a clear refection of the two men, lying on the rug, mouths engaged in deep, eager exploration of each other.

The brunette was on top, head bent down to taste his lover's collarbone. The blond had his head thrown back, sucking one by one on the fingers of his lover's hand. Both men were groaning, soft rises of voice ebbing, giving way to the other as they took turns, apparently, hitting those tender spots on each other's skin.

The brunette suddenly moved, retrieving his hand and using both to hold himself up. He was looking down, the light from the fireplace flickering, casting shadows in the mirror that obscured the look on his face. There was no mistaking the sound of his voice, however. "Egon, you... I swear, if I *ever* let you navigate again..."

There was a quiet chuckle, then a clear, offended tone. "The directions from the travel agent were quite clear. I cannot be held responsible if the map you bought at that gas station was inaccurate as to the condition of the roads. Or the existence thereof."

There was no movement, and the flickering light showed a narrowing of the brunette's eyes. "If we had done as I wanted, and stopped at the diner for lunch, we could have asked."

There was the sound of lips pressing together, soft whispers of a second kiss, then Egon's amused voice replied, "We arrived, safely, and without being exposed to diner food. I fail to see the problem, Peter."

"Well," Peter leaned down, resumed his lingual exploration of Egon's collarbone. "If we hadn't spent an hour being lost, we'd be awake from our post-coital naps by now, and be doing this for the second time."


Silence, again, slow, easy movements in the long white fur of the rug, one leg moved as if reveling in the sensation of it as well as the feel of his lover's body. Peter leaned down and wrapped his arms around Egon's head, raising him up to meet for another kiss.

When Peter let him go, Egon said, "I stand, rather, lie corrected. Next time I shall ask for directions at every available opportunity."

Peter laughed. "Now, wouldn't that just slow us up, more?"

There was no reply but for Egon reaching up to embrace his lover tightly -- and rolling them onto their sides. Still both on the rug, though rolling Peter onto his back would spill them onto the cold floor. Hands began roving, Peter's rubbing Egon's back, Egon's hands hidden from the mirror's sight by his own body. From the wriggling Peter began doing, it was clear those hands were doing something good.

"Oh god, Egon..." Peter's head fell onto the rug, started slipping backwards only to be caught and pulled back to remain safely on the fur. He let his head fall against Egon, fingers and mouth moving to touch his lover as if barely aware of the catastrophe he'd narrowly missed.

Egon was panting, now, stretching his legs and falling onto his back again. Peter followed, more intent on laving every exposed inch of his lover's body. His determination was unswayed by the clothing still in place -- he got to his knees and hurriedly stripped Egon's pants from the pliant, willing body, then tossed them aside with his own hastily removed jeans and the shirts and shoes which had been discarded before they'd even laid down.

For a moment Peter didn't move, knelt over his lover and looked down. There was the sensation of a shared smiled, and something else, something warmer than even the fire. Then Peter laid down again and drew a shocked gasp from Egon. Peter chuckled, his arm moving, inducing another soft gasp.

"Peter!" Egon raised his leg, bent at the knee and pushed up, the entire bottom half of his torso rising from the rug. The shouted name was half-cried again, quickly becoming lost in a strangled moan. The moan itself was lost when Peter's mouth clamped down hard on Egon's, and for a long while there was no sound but the brush of body on fur, and the slap of skin on hard, hot skin.

Egon's body was moving, now, pushed up and down along the rug, both feet flat against the skinned legs of the bear, spread out to give leverage and room for his lover to move. And move Peter did, leaning down to nip, and kiss, and once to grab a teethful of skin and tug. Egon grabbed onto Peter's back, fingers slipping for purchase on skin. Finally, with a desperate groan, he draped one leg over Peter's, and pulled himself as close as he could.

His groans smoothed out into harsh pants, now intermingled with the panting above him, each being lost again as sound was swallowed into more kisses, returning with more harsh whispers, more panting pleas for something, more, or simply echoes of one or the other's name.

Egon managed to nearly say Peter's name, once, before Peter gave a cry. For a second both bodies froze before Peter was thrusting hard against Egon, and Egon was writhing beneath him. Hands clenched fur, legs wrapped tightly around each other, bodies moving together as if in a toneless, violent dance.

A long, tortured wail began, and Peter tensed, throwing his head back. Egon wrapped his hands around Peter's arms and held on, whispering something, now, words of encouragement and endearment. When Peter screamed Egon's name, all motion seemed swallowed: lost in the tight, frozen scene. One on top of the other, only their hips moving, thrusting the last few times, the trembling of thigh muscles as Peter held himself up and drove himself down, the rhythmic clutching of Egon's long fingers around his lover's arms.

Another, shuttered, cry, and Peter collapsed. He landed on his lover, who moved as bonelessly as he, though Egon collected him well enough to hold him in place, lying completely on top of Egon. There was a gasp for air, and a whispered 'oh', then, as quickly as they had begun, they fell into stillness.

There was only the sound of the crackling fire, and the movement of pounding heartbeats, and the picture of two men together, reflected in the mirror.

Smiling, he watched as they drifted to sleep. The air was filled with the scent of sweat and musk, tinged with smoke and cinnamon. The mirror showed both their faces, relaxed and pressed close. It was good. It was very good.


"Yes, Peter?" Sleepy voices spoke, not disturbing even their own rest.

"Is that you growling?"