...At times, Vic’s work schedule could be a little strange, and the week of February 14th was no exception. A bus driver for the city, he was down for four ten-hour shifts Sunday through Wednesday, and had an extended weekend before he was back on an eight hour shift the following Monday. The beginning of the week, he dragged himself home after each shift, too tired to eat or talk or shower—he fell into the bed beside Matt, cuddled up beside his lover, and fell into a deep sleep that lasted until his alarm went off the next morning. This sort of shift was infrequent enough that Matt could weather through it every so often, but it still bothered him. He missed their evenings together…and the sex.

Valentine’s fell on Thursday, Vic’s first free day. Matt left him curled beneath the bed sheets, a kiss on his forehead. “Our reservation’s at seven,” he whispered, running a hand down Vic’s body, hidden under the covers.

His lover’s reply was an unintelligible grunt and the sleepy thought, ::Love you.::

When Matt called home on his lunch break, Vic was awake but still very tired. “I hate working swing shifts,” he told Matt. “It wears me out, literally. I’m getting too damn old for this.”

“Oh, please,” Matt said with a laugh. He doodled on his phone pad as he stared out his office window at the empty gym pool. “You have more stamina than most men half your age. God knows, you’re sexier, too.”

Lowering his voice, Vic growled, “Speaking of sex…”

Matt laughed again. “Tell me about it. If I don’t get a piece of you soon, things are going to get ugly.”

“I’m still up for staying home,” Vic told him.

“Dinner first,” Matt said. “Then dessert. You gonna be ready by the time I get home?”

Now it was Vic’s turn to laugh. “You said seven. You want me ready at five? I was thinking of laying down for a bit. I could use a nap.”

“Old man,” Matt teased.

Vic agreed. “I told you.”

A glance at the clock on his desk showed his lunch hour almost gone. Stretching in his chair, he told Vic, “You nap. I’ll wake you up when I get in. What are you wearing?”

“Right now?”

Suddenly an image rose in Matt’s mind, sent through the telephone wire—Vic in his favorite flannel robe, sitting at the dining room table. The robe hung open to reveal his smooth chest, his shaved genitals, and as Matt closed his eyes to savor the mental picture, he saw his lover’s hand stray to his crotch and fondle himself. In the confines of his pants, Matt’s dick grew heavy with lust. “Oh, Lord,” he murmured. “I may not make it ’til five.”

“What’d you say?” Vic joked. “This was dessert?”

“I’m going to eat you up tonight,” Matt sighed.