Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

A/N: Inspired because someone took the time to review my other two pieces, and I wanted to explore these two a little more. Established relationship.

Slash (m/m sex) mentioned, though not overly graphically.


He always waited until Danny and the girls were asleep, and then, quietly, Joey would tiptoe into Jesse's room. His heart would hammer in his chest the whole way, and he'd be terrified that the noise would wake Danny, or one of the girls, and that he'd be caught. That he and Jesse would have to stop their midnight rendezvous.

Jesse would be waiting for him – lifting the edge of his covers, inviting Joey in. Joey would slip in beside Jesse, and then he'd sigh, feeling the tension that had been building all day ease when Jesse pulled him close, linking their fingers together, and kissing each of Joey's knuckles, smiling so that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Then, they'd kiss. Jesse's lips tasted a lot like chocolate chip cookies, and what Joey imagined sunshine would taste like on a hot summer day. Fingers would quest and grope, and soon, they'd be completely absorbed in each other, the rest of the house, the world, would disappear.

They'd amp it up a little: touching, gripping, pulling, licking, teasing each other to the brink of orgasm. Joey'd bite down on a pillow to muffle the sounds – the grunts, moans, pants – that Jesse's touch wrought from him.

He'd bury his face between Jesse's shoulder blades – slick and glistening with sweat – and lose himself in the scent – vanilla, peanut butter, and cinnamon – and rhythm of Jesse.

Some nights they'd take it slow, Joey begging, weeping to come. And others, like tonight, it would be fast and dirty, and Joey'd cry out his release against Jesse's back, biting into the man's shoulder, marking him in a place where no one, but he would be able to see, after dark, when it was just the two of them and Jesse wore nothing but a smile.

On those nights, Joey would ride out his orgasm with his cock pressed between Jesse's ass-cheeks, the heat and friction almost unbearable. Sometimes, he'd be buried deep inside of Jesse when he came, Jesse tight and hot around him, squeezing out every last ounce of Joey that he could while Joey stroked Jesse's cock – arms wrapped around Jesse's middle, fingers pinching and squeezing, hand wrapped around Jesse, jerking, and slip-sliding along the man's shaft, making him whimper and beg, and tighten around Joey.

Then there were those nights when they just lay together, staring into each other's eyes, fingers tracing old, and new scars. They'd kiss, leisurely, like it was a lazy Sunday and they had no one to answer to, nowhere to be, and they were the only two men in the entire world. Joey liked those nights best. They'd doze, off and on throughout the night; Jesse spooned within Joey's embrace.

But, always, no matter the night, just before dawn – before the rest of the house woke – Joey would gently extricate himself from Jesse, and would tiptoe back to his own room, draw the covers back, and lay down on his cold, empty mattress, feeling a little lost. A part of his heart missing when he's not with Jesse.

A short time later, minutes, maybe hours, Michelle, or Stephanie, or DJ, or Danny, would come bouncing past, or into, his room, and Joey would put on a smile, throw the covers off, and ignore the ever-present aching of his heart. Joey would entertain his family, acting the part of a clown, and pretending that Jesse's forced jibes didn't hurt.

In the daytime, he had to make do with this Jesse, the man who was both Danny's and Joey's best friend. The proverbial uncle. The man who could undo him with a crooked smile or a tilt of his head. It was the nights, the midnight rendezvous, that Joey looked forward to, and they helped to see him through the long, long days where he itched to touch, but couldn't.


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