disclaimer: not mine
Within
The flicker of lamp-light in a gust of wind through the tent-flap. From beyond the tent-flap, the crash of the waves, the murmur of men. But the lamps have sputtered, and there's nothing beyond the tent-flap. Fingers glance upon leather, then upon linen, then upon skin.
My wife will feel much better if she knows you're by my side.
In the dark, the flash of a grin so fox-like he'd swear it could have been his. Those fingers elicit a sound neither growl nor whimper but something mingled.
"Would she be so blithe if she could see me doing this?"