Scott had to push Thomas into the room. Scott strolled over to one of the beds and grabbed the folded towel from the top.
“Undress,” he ordered.
“Excuse me?” Thomas asked, glaring.
“For the hot stone massage, it’s better if you take your clothes off, or at the least your T-shirt.”
Thomas looked away. “I’m not sure about this.”
“I promise you will like it.”
Scott strode over and tugged at the hem of Thomas’s T-shirt. He didn’t attempt to take it off, just pulled on it while Thomas stared him down.
“I thought you were proud of your tattoos.”
“I love my tattoos,” Thomas hissed. “It’s not the tattoos that are the problem.”
“Then what is?”
Thomas gestured to himself. “The rest of me.”
“We were in prison together. I’ve seen you naked.”
“I’m not bothered aboutyouseeing me.”
“Zara has quite literally seen my arsehole,” Scott reminded him.
“And I imagine it’s a prettier sight than my stomach.” Thomas stiffened his jaw. “I don’t have a body like yours. You must’ve noticed. You’ve known me for three years, and my size hasn’t fluctuated.”
Scott shrugged. “So what? You’re a little squidgier than me –”
“Squidgier?”
“I like the way you look. You should own it.”
Thomas flared his nostrils. “It’s easy to say bullshit like that when you look like you do.”
Scott sighed. He let go of Thomas’s T-shirt. “You don’t have to take it off. I want you to be comfortable.”
“I’m not comfortable in the slightest. I don’t go to places like this, and the only reason I’ve stayed is to see you in considerable pain.”
“That’s…nice.” Scott slumped. He pointed at a chair in the corner. “You can watch from there without the treatment if you want.”
Thomas glanced at the chair, then the bed Scott was going to lie on. “I think I’d rather be at the head end…”
“My arsehole is feeling a little self-conscious right now.”
Zara stepped into the room. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Scott, everything off, face down on the bed.”
Scott didn’t hesitate to start undressing.
“And Thomas,” Zara said. “If you’d like to do the same, except your boxers can stay on.”
Scott hung his hoodie up on the peg by the wall. “Thomas is good, actually,” he said. “He’s only here to see me hiss in pain. He finds my agony more relaxing than a massage.”
Zara snorted. “Are you sure about that?”
When Scott turned around, Thomas was down to his boxers and lying face down on the massage bed.
