“Sexual frustration is a serious medical condition, Anthony. I read about it on the internet once.”
God, he’s just so cute. How is it possible for someone to be this cute?
“Well, if the internet says so.”
“It’s important to check sexual compatibility early on,” he declares solemnly. “And it has been eight hours since we met.”
“That’s practically an eternity in gay time,” I agree before I start to kiss down his neck again.
“And we’ve been messaging for over a month, that’s got to provide us with some credit, right?” he gasps as I find a particularly sensitive spot.
“Definitely. I’m sure we’ve appeased the slow gods sufficiently that they’re going to bless us with spectacular sex.”
I pull back to examine his expression.
He’s grinning at me. “In gay time, we’re practically an old married couple. In fact, this is basically our anniversary sex.”
I can’t help kissing his smile. I think it’s going to be impossible not to kiss Nick when he looks like that at me, eyes bright, with a cheeky grin.
The grin turns into something else when I rock my hips against his. His eyes go half-lidded and his hands grip my waist, pulling me down harder, setting a rhythm that has the old bed frame squeaking in protest.
Nick’s hand works its way between our bodies, fingers tracing down my stomach before pressing against the front of my jeans, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily. He palms me through the denim, feeling how hard I am, and the knowing look on his face makes heat crawl up my neck.
“I’m taking that as an agreement we’re on the same page?” he asks.
My voice is hoarse. “Definitely.”
And we’re kissing now as we do some frantic clothes removal, removing our jeans as though they’re on fire. My T-shirt gets snagged over my head, and I’m momentarily transformed into a turtle, causing us both to laugh.
Because this is the great part of being with Nick. I’m so relaxed with him right now compared to how I normally am.
I hadn’t realized until now how I’ve felt this pressure in the bedroom since I became famous. The awareness that my partner is sleeping with Anthony Devine, and Anthony Devine should be impressive. Skilled. Confident. Worth the story they’ll tell their friends later.
But Nick isn’t sleeping with Anthony Devine. He’s sleeping with the guy he got to know through late-night conversations, not magazine covers.
Somehow, that changes everything. I don’t have to be impressive. I can just be here.
And so we’re laughing as we’re getting undressed, exchanging kisses and making stupid jokes, and it feels natural. Real. Like we’re just two guys who really like each other, figuring things out together.
At one point, just as he’s about to remove my boxers, Nick glances up at the walls.
“Okay, I have to ask. Is it weird having multiple versions of yourself watching us right now?”
I follow his gaze to the posters. Past me stares down at us from various angles, all perfectly styled hair and smoldering looks.
“It is a bit like having a panel of judges,” I say. “That one’s giving us a seven point five for technique for clothes removal.”
“Only seven point five? Harsh.” Nick pretends to study the poster critically. “I think he’s just jealous that present you is getting action while he’s stuck being two-dimensional.”
“There’s potential I’m going to get performance anxiety from my own face.”
“Personally, I think it’s great. If things get awkward, I can just make eye contact with poster you instead of actual you.”
I laugh so hard I have to bury my face in his shoulder. “That’s the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me in bed.”
“I aim to be memorable.”
“Trust me,” I say, pulling him closer and fumbling for the buckle on his pants, “you’re already unforgettable.”
