Scott nodded, as if that was the kind of event he attended every other week. It was several seconds before he actually processed the words. “Nobody wearsanythingbut their boots?”
“That’s right,” Joe said, with a lopsided grin. “Not even me.” As he spoke, he undid his jacket.
Scott half expected to discover that Joe wasn’t wearing a stitch beneath his leather jacket, but he had a tight fitting black T-shirt on. Somehow, that fact didn’t help Scott remember how to breathe as easily as it should have.
He was going to see Joe naked. Scott had asked for nudity, and he was going to get it. Admittedly, it had never occurred to Scott that he’d needed to specify that he would much prefer a private viewing, or to enquire if the price he’d have to pay for the pleasure would involve wandering around stark bollock naked in front of God knew how many equally naked men.
Scott slowly dragged his gaze up to Joe’s face. Joe raised an eyebrow at him. Scott immediately scrambled to work out what he’d done to displease him.
His clothes. He was supposed to be taking them off. Scott fumbled with the zip on his coat. Undressing suddenly required an entire set of skills he didn’t possess.
With most of his attention still fixed on Joe, Scott took his clothes off as if he were following an instruction manual translated from Chinese to English, by someone who didn’t understand either language.
Joe hung his leather jacket in his locker. A second later, his T-shirt was gone. He had an intricate black tattoo on his right shoulder that Scott had never been lucky enough to see it up close before. Scott lost his grip on his own shirt buttons as he fought against the urge to reach out and touch Joe’s ink without an invitation.
His need to run his hands over the complicated swirl of Celtic symbols was almost unbearable. So was the desire to lick it. Scott’s mouth watered at the prospect. Hell, why stop with the tattoo. He’d love to lick every other bit of Joe too.
“Forgetting something?” Joe asked.
Scott blinked. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he went back to fumbling at his own clothes. Piece by piece, Scott put each garment in his locker. He didn’t risk another glance at Joe until he’d removed everything and replaced his boots. He was completely naked from the ankles up—having his boots on only stressed that fact.
It was a locker room. There was nothing wrong with being naked in a locker room. Scott had been to gyms, if not regularly then, at least, on occasion. He’d got changed there the same as everyone else. He might not be entirely confident about his body, but he wasn’t a prude. If he hadn’t been sporting a very obvious erection, he might have been okay.
His fingers trembled as he turned the key in his locker. No one was going to swing a punch at him for getting turned on by all the naked men around him. There weren’t going to be any homophobic straight men there. Everyone was gay or bi. There was nothing to be afraid of. None of those very logical thoughts actually helped Scott feel the least bit calmer.
When a hand brushed against the small of his back, Scott jumped forward and almost slammed himself face first into the row of lockers. He glanced over his shoulder. Joe was right there, and he didn’t look the least bit happy.
Scott swallowed rapidly and tried to work out what was wrong. There were no clues in Joe’s expression. His eyes revealed nothing. Scott wished like hell that he could believe his own poker face was just as effective.
* * * * *
Joe silently cursed himself as he stared down into a pair of big, blue, and very scared looking eyes. Scott really was a shy little thing. A man would have to be a complete bastard to drag him into a boots only night before they’d even spent a few hours naked and alone together.
Suddenly, Joe’s amusing idea didn’t seem so funny. It seemed less likely to nudge Scott out of his comfort zone and deeper into his submission, and far more likely to leave him scarred for life.
Joe lowered his gaze and saw that there was at least one part of Scott that appeared unaffected by his terror. Scott’s cock was loving it. Talk about mixed signals.
“Do you want to leave?” Joe asked, cutting straight to the chase.
Scott’s eyes opened very wide. “No!” He caught hold of Joe’s bicep as if he thought Joe was the one who looked like hemight run for the hills at any moment—as if he really thought he could stop Joe if that’s what he decided to do.
“You look as if you’re about to face a room full of serial killers,” Joe pointed out.
A little bit of colour came back to Scott’s face. Admittedly, it was an embarrassed blush rather than a healthy glow, but it was still better than the deathly pale version of Scott that had stared up at Joe just a few moments before.
“I just…” Scott took a deep breath and waved a hand toward his flourishing erection as if he thought it might have escaped Joe’s notice. “I need a m-minute or two to get myself b-back under control,” he whispered.
Joe looked from Scott’s face to his hard cock and back again.
Was it really possible that Scott hadn’t realised that everyone in the building was either going to be sporting wood or working on getting himself hard as soon as he could?
“No one’s going to be insulted if you get turned on looking at them,” Joe said.
Scott glanced up at him. “I guess I’m just n-not used to everyone else in the locker room being g-gay,” he whispered.
“And you’re not used to walking around naked and hard in front of strangers?” Joe suggested, with a smile. It was pretty much exactly what he expected.
Scott nodded. A lock of shiny blond hair fell forward into his eyes. He was so serious, so sweet, and since he seemed happy to stay in the pub it was impossible for Joe to resist upping the stakes.
