Sven leaned back, humming. There was one benefit to being injured and recovering -- Coran didn't feel quite so intimidated, since his libido had slowed down. He'd tried telling Coran that it really didn't matter, but the man still kept 'sneaking' the Viagra... Shaking his head, Sven shifted deeper into his hollow of pillow-lined comfort. Yes, this was the life. He cocked his head to one side as the alarm wailed its warning. And smiled. He no longer had to answer that. This was definitely the life. ********** Sven smiled as the light from the corridor spilled into the darkened sick bay, haloing a familiar shape. The door slid shut, and quiet footsteps made their way to his bedside with the ease of long practice. Tracking the noise, when the other man was close enough, Sven reached up, searching for and finding a hand, fingers rough with age, knuckles large with impending arthritis, but strong for all of that, and gripped hard. "You made it." Coran sighed. "Yes." His other hand stroked over Sven's forehead, kneading his scalp and playing with the silken fringe. Sven sighed, and leaned up into the touch. "Tough day?" Coran's fingers tightened on Sven's. "It's starting to get out of hand." Sven chuckled. "Starting?" Coran growled, his husky voice sending shivers through Sven. "Hunk and Pidge set the view screens to pipe in porn." Sven choked, and Coran's reluctant laughter flowed over him, his warm voice describing Red's collision with the mountain side, Black's freeze in the midst of the maneuvers, setting them both off even more. Hiccoughing to a stop, Sven breathed slowly and carefully, letting the ache in his chest settle, before reaching out with his free hand to card into Coran's thick, wiry locks. Dropping his voice to a lower register, he purred into Coran's ear. "So, does all of that mean you're ready for me, lover?" Coran gasped; Sven could feel his pulse speeding up against his hand, felt Coran's fingers tighten on him. "I take that's a yes?" Pulling Coran closer, Sven licked his cheek, relishing the faint stubble until his upper lip brushed the edge of a moustache. "Mmm…" Swallowing audibly, Coran let his hand slip from Sven's hair to trail down his cheek, blunt fingers teasing the angle of Sven's jaw, gently pushing the neck of the hospital gown down. Sven tilted his head closer to Coran, opening his neck up to the light touch. Shifting slightly, Coran brushed his lips against Sven's; soft lips, feathery hair, and warm, wet tongue, before breaking all contact. Gasping, Sven caught his breath as Coran stripped, each article of clothing making a distinct sound, increasing his arousal. Moving carefully, so as to not disturb his injuries, he eased the hospital blanket down to the foot of the bed, and untangled himself from the patient gown Gorma had stuffed him in. He couldn't see Coran, but he could imagine him – body lean with stringy muscles, and the faintest hint of a paunch that Coran so painstakingly chose clothing to hide. Sven found it adorable, though he knew better than to tell his lover that. Once clear of his clothing, Coran settled carefully alongside Sven, and they came together with the ease of long practice. Fingers sought out sensitive areas, arousal was coaxed slowly higher, ever cautious of stiff joints and deep wounds. Lingering touches alternatively stroked the fire higher, or calmed them down when the pain overwhelmed the pleasure. Tongues and lips, and the brush of hair against sensitized skin along with the rising scent of their mingled musk eased them toward the pinnacle. Bracing Sven's legs on his shoulders, Coran slicked his fingers, stroking