A/N - Although the story is overall angsty anyway, the feelings around certain recent tragic events make it even angstier, I think, than it was really meant to be. To that end, yes, I wrote it with T'Challa in mind, but if he's not your cup of tea, or you'd just rather not consider that right now, then there is absolutely no description at all, so you can read it as any pairing you want to.

The title is from "Nights In White Satin" by the Moody Blues. I was picking and choosing, and changed my mind at least half a dozen times before settling on this version. (Blame Dark Shadows for the whole entire thing - damn it for having that song in it)

He was considering the benefits of waking up when the bed beside him dipped and a hand abruptly pressed over his eyes.

Luckily, he recognised the scent – earthy, with hints of stone and lightning and something wild – and didn't immediate repulsor the intruder in the face. That wouldn't have gone down well.

The hand pressed slightly harder over his eyes for a moment, the keep them closed very strongly implied. He reached out to grasp his bedmate's hips, but it was a lot easier for them to avoid his groping hands when they could see him but he couldn't see them. Pouting, he dropped his hands back to the bed.

Good boy. The words were so breathy that he almost didn't hear them. The hand left his eyes and two hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking carefully over his cheekbones. When they moved down to run teasingly across his mouth, he tried his best to nip at one, but it seemed his aim was really off today, as he didn't manage to do that either.

The hands drifted further downwards, stoking gently over his throat and smoothing out across his collarbones. He could feel the strength in them and the juxtaposition between that and the gentleness they were treating him with sent a jolt straight through his core, and he made some sound that came awfully close to a whimper.

Tony. He could hear the amusement in the word, breathed across his skin. Every hair on his body stood up, leaving his skin quivering. He'd never tried sensory deprivation as a kink before – aside from being on the other end of some minor breathplay once – but he thought they would definitely have to do this again sometime. Maybe with an actual blindfold so he wouldn't have to worry about whether he opened his eyes or not.

Then again, he supposed this was half the fun, the fight to keep his eyes shut with nothing more than his willpower.

The hands slid over his shoulders, down to his own hands, where they lingered, stroking over his fingers, before inching across to his side and gliding upwards. He squirmed; he wasn't really ticklish, but the loss of his sight made him more attentive to his other senses.

He gave another brief whimper when the touch glided across and down his chest, not paying any more attention that that to his nipples. At that, though, the hands paused and then reversed.

Or, at least, one of them did.

To his faint surprise, the hand didn't touch him where he wanted it, but instead came to a stop over his heart, just laying there as though checking the continuance of his heartbeat.

He could feel the other's gaze on him. It was unexpectedly heavy, and somehow sorrowful. He wanted to demand, What? What's wrong? I'm here, but the same thing that kept his eyes shut kept his mouth closed too. His throat felt tight.

The hand pressed harder for a second, then resumed sliding down his torso. When it reached his waist, the fingers curved around his sides and then came gliding back down his hip bones. He couldn't stop the groan that came if he tried. His sense of smell and touch were working overtime now, the earthiness deep in his nose and his skin tingling as though every pore had opened right up.

He wondered whether they'd touch him everywhere, but it seemed that outright sex wasn't the plan, although they were doing a damn good job of seducing him towards it. Instead, the hands skipped that most intimate part of him and moved on to his legs.

He whimpered again and clenched his fingers tightly in the sheets. He wanted to reach out, to bring his bedmate in for a proper kiss, to do some exploring of his own, but he knew that he had to remain still.

The touch went slowly but firmly down his thigh muscles, almost as if they were slowly massaging him. He wouldn't say he was really objecting, but something about this slow worship was making his throat ever tighter, and there was a faint burning sensation behind his eyes now, almost as if he wanted to cry.

One hand briefly left his leg and a fingertip ran gently under his eye. From the wetness that it smeared, it seemed he was crying, but he didn't know why. He wanted to request that this stop, that he be allowed to open his eyes, to touch, for them to hold each other, yet at the same time, he wanted it to keep going, never wanted it to end.

The hand retreated from his face, pressed over his heart again for a moment and then returned back to join its fellow on his legs. His skin was so sensitised now that the fleeting touch to the back of his knees didn't even make him twitch, and they were the most ticklish spot on his body.

It continued down his calves, briefly circling round to massage the muscle there, and then slid down to his ankles, where it finally seemed to come to a halt, loosely gripping them.

Please, he wanted to say, but he didn't know what he was asking for.

He could feel the tears escaping now, and the hands moved back up to tenderly cup his face, the thumbs gently wiping the wetness away. He could feel a faint hint of breath across his mouth but when he tried to angle for a kiss he found nothing.

Feeling his heart give a slow beat of dread, he finally ignored the warning and tried to reach up to clasp the wrists holding him in return. And yet, somehow, he missed. The hands hadn't moved, but he couldn't find the arms to physically hold. There shouldn't be any way they could avoid him like this.

And yet…

His stomach clenching in further dread, he finally disobeyed the first command and opened his eyes. His vision was blurred with tears so he had to blink a few times to bring the room into focus.

There was nobody there.

He was alone.