Untouchables

All in all, Malone had to admit the planning of the raid was going well. George Stone had determined the best angles from which to open fire, and a basic plan of attack had gradually been formed, one all four of them agreed was best. As night fell and they huddled around the plans, the cold urging them closer together, he supposed he should be feeling a sense of platonic comradeship and brotherhood. In point of fact, he had never felt so turned on in his life. Odd, really, at his age. But he so rarely got the chance to indulge his secret desires, and when he did it was always quick and anonymous. Nothing like now. Although the dark hid his arousal well enough, it did nothing to discourage it. Nor did the soft warmth of his friends' bodies pressing against his own. Ness (a happily married man, Malone reluctantly reminded himself) draped a arm around his shoulders affably.

"Cold?"

"No, I'm fine." Malone did not dare divulge the true reason for his shivering. George leaned against his other side, trying to decipher Wallace's handwriting. Wallace, for his part, stood at the opposite end of the table scribbling away. His hands often clumsily brushed against Malone's, and the older man could not help but wonder how those hands would feel caressing him. It had been years since he'd dared to enjoy such illicit pleasures, far more dangerous than bootlegged gin.

Malone wrapped his arm around the curve of Ness's waist in what he hoped seemed a friendly manner.