Sex on Fire by Foreverand...

Lay where you're laying, don't make a sound
I know they're watching, they're watching
The room was hushed, the barred windows cracked only an inch to let the Lilicovian summer swelter escape from the heated room.  Footsteps echoed in the blackness as the numerous grunts passed.  Watch duty, they claimed, as he claimed to be torturing the prisoner. Yet no sound was made in the room.
A single finger was pressed to the prisoner's lips, partially open to breathe. His heart beat loudly, but was muffled by the body pressed against him. The hand that wasn't muffling him traced the scars on his chest.  
“They're gone.”
The prisoner breathed a sigh of relief, a sign that was cut short by his captor's lips.
“That doesn't mean we get to make so much noise. They could return any minute.”
“But-”
“You don't get to speak at all.”
The prisoner's crimson eyes showed distaste in the request. “Well, then.”
All the commotion, the kiddie like play
Has people talking, talking
The captor smirked and rose from the small bed, glaring at his captive when he tried to follow suit. The glaring, however, distracted him, causing him to run into a conveniently placed table. The prisoner bit his tongue to keep from laughing.
“What was that!?”
“Are you alright?!”
“Boss! What's the problem?!”
“Nothing!” he barked, nearly growling at the voices of his subordinates.
“They'll know.” The other man's voice was hardly more than a whisper, the almost British accent purring even in his paranoia.
“No. They'll never know. And if they do, they'll deal.”
The dark of the alley, the breaking of day
The head while I'm driving, I'm driving
A bit of red sunlight shone though the blinds.  Red sky at morning, sailors take warning, the captor thought, and pinned his prisoner onto the bed, out of the rays. The prisoner lifted his head, brushing his smooth cheek to the captor's, covered in chestnut stubble. “Before the sun rises.”
The captor smiled, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning the other man's trench-coat. Luckily for the prisoner, his warden was already shirtless. He concerned himself with the lower half as the other rid him of his own top, a thin finger pulling the belt loose. The captor's hands slipped his pants down the thin, feminine waist as the prisoner sunk to the man's already hardening cock.
Soft lips are open, knuckles are pale
Feels like you're dying, you're dying
His parched lips were still soft, his mouth over-salivated. The captor could only bite his tongue to keep from crying out. His heartbeat was too fast; it felt as if it would burst out of his ribcage at any second. The man stopped, seeing the stark white knuckles of his lover as his hands were balled into tight fists. With a final lick of the shaft, he pulled himself back to the man's face.
Hot as a fever, rattling bones
I could just taste it, taste it
There was that strange taste on his lips as they kissed. The captor tasted of salt and passion, whilst his prisoner's flavour was distinctly of cigarettes and vodka, with a bit of the captor's own taste, his own essence still lingering on the man's tongue.
The thinner man's skin was burning, burning as he could feel the blood rushed to his gut. If you don't take me soon...
If it's not forever, if it's just tonight
Oh, it's still the greatest, the greatest, the greatest
With his saliva as lubrication, the captor pried his prisoner's entrance open with the insertion of all five of hid digits, one at a time. A wet sound erupted as he took them out, but the empty place was filled with a much larger object.
He started slowly, but quickened the pace as the sunlight leaked further into the room, illuminating the sweat-soaked body of his lover.  His hair, long and blood red, brushed the small of his back as he arched his spine, every thrust bringing the two closer to orgasm and further from the reality of this one-night stand.
And you, your sex is on fire
Consumed with what's to transpire
Not even the redhead's eruption burned as hot as the passion within his soul.