Moonlight glances off the wheelchair by the bed.

Rasp of tongue on taut nipple.

A husky moan.

Yes, he can still feel this. There’s still pleasure here--pleasure for both. Partners in this as everything.

“What do you want, Ray?”

“You.”

“How?”

A whimper of frustration. Hot hungry mouths, caressing hands, the press of naked bodies--one whole, one broken. Legs motionless. Soft hair, smooth skin, wet eyes blinking hard.

“I can’t feel--” Sweet catch of breath.

The wicked tease of teeth and tongue--and knowing fingers. “You feel that, Ray?”

“Y-yeh…”

“Yeah?”

Happy endings?

Doyle’s unsteady, sinful laugh.

-- THE END --

June 2008