“Yes,” he answered, nearly a plea.
“Alright. I think you need it,” Remington said. “Come right now, then don’t touch yourself again until I’m there.”
With a relieved sound, he made a fist around his cock and jacked himself off, shooting spurts of hot cum against his stomach in nearly record time. He wiped his hand down his stomach, smearing the sticky evidence of his arousal between his fingers and into his hair.
“Remington,” he whispered, looking down at his hand.
“Did it help?”
“No.”
“Sebastian,” Remington said, his name no more than a gentle breath, soothing to his apprehension and confusion.
“Why is this so hard?” he asked, biting the inside of his cheek. “How can it be so easy and so hard all at the same time?”
“I don’t know,” Remington answered. “But we’ll sort it out tonight. I promise.”
Chapter Seventeen
Remington Dictates the Rules
Remington showed up at Sebastian’s with a bag of takeout gyros and a heart full of fear.
Sebastian’s doubt and self-loathing started to seep out of his cracks whenever Remington wasn’t actively engaging him with some kind of activity or task, and while Remington thoroughly enjoyed the kind of games they played and the rush he got when Sebastian obeyed, something wasn’t right. Remington needed to get to the bottom of it for both their sakes.
Sebastian opened the door, his eyes red-ringed and his shoulders slumped. The corner of his mouth twitched into the promise of a smile, but the expression quickly fell away. He stepped aside to make room for Remington, who closed the door behind him once inside.
“What kind of mood are you in?” Remington asked, toeing off his shoes and kicking them into an orderly line beside Sebastian’s door.
“Cranky,” Sebastian admitted with a frown.
“Have you been drinking?”
“I’m always drinking.”
“You weren’t,” he said. “You’d stopped.”
“Briefly.” Sebastian reached for the bag of food in Remington’s hand and carried it into the kitchen. He removed the Styrofoam containers of cucumber and tomato salad and tabbouleh, then grabbed two forks from the drawer and took everything to the table.
Remington watched in silence as Sebastian set their places, arranging the food where they could both reach it, before returning to the kitchen for drinks.
“Water,” Remington said. “For both of us.”
Sebastian made a noise in his throat and shoved on the tap, pouring two glasses of water. He carried them back to the dining table and waited for Remington. Sebastian didn’t sit until Remington sat, he noticed.
“What has you feeling so irritable?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Something,” Remington corrected.
“It’s nothing,” Sebastian said again. “Itshouldbe nothing.”
“But it’s clearly not.”
“I’m just bothered with my brother; it’ll pass.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
