I remember when we were boys, how we would lie awake for hours, just laying there, careful not to make any noise in case James or Peter were still awake. I remember the cold, smooth feel or the pale skin on your shoulder, how your back would rise and fall with the gentle motion of your breathing. I never could see your face; you were facing away from me, your almost naked body folding to fit the curves of mine. My arms were wrapped around you under the bedcovers, keeping you warm.

I would kiss that soft skin of your and would feel your face grow hot – I always made you blush when I kissed you, always, no matter how old we were. I would stroke your soft brown hair and whisper faintly in your ear how much I loved you, and you would touch my hand ever so lightly in affectionate response.

You never got the chance to hold me like I held you for those nights, and I laugh sometimes as I imagine you laying in your own frigid bed, craving with a passionate hunger to be back under the covers in my four poster, enveloped in my embrace.

I laugh as I see you tossing and turning, trying to make believe you were in my arms again, with me caressing you and whispering sweet things.

James and Peter never caught us at it, mainly because James snored like a wild boar and Peter always mumbled in his sleep. Once James came awful close to seeing us entangled in the sheets, undressed save for the occasional pair of boxers.

We had become a little too lustful, hadn't we? I had said one too many things and you got excited, yes, you remember. You turned around to kiss me on the mouth, and you knocked over the lamp next to us with a loud crash! James woke up instantly, and I thought you were going to have a heart attack; your pulse was beating so rapidly.

But he saw it was the lamp and in his adrenaline induced awareness he didn't see there were one too many bulges under the covers of my bed, and too few in yours.

That was one of our finest nights, I daresay.

I howled with laughter for weeks remembering the look on your face when James was staring around.

But you made sure we didn't have any more incidents like that anymore – you refused to be there with me for days afterward, making sure the incident had blown over totally. I could hear you in your own bed, writhing under the covers never finding a comfortable position because my arms were not there to guide you.

How you deserved it, I laughed, how you deserved it.