And lower, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it—the beginning of a visible response straining against his compression shorts.
He was hard. Or getting there.
My pulse kicked. This was a problem. This was a catastrophically bad idea.
But I raised my stick anyway. Met his eyes. Dropped into position.
We faced each other, sticks crossed, close enough that I could count his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat.
“Closer,” Taylor directed. “This is a battle. You should be in each other's space. Competing for control.”
I moved in. Our sticks pressed together, and suddenly we were inches apart. Close enough that shifting my weight forward would put us chest to chest. Close enough that the heat between us felt like a physical thing.
Hartley's eyes locked on mine. His breath came faster.
“Perfect. Hold that.” Taylor's camera clicked. “The intensity is incredible. Stay just like that.”
I couldn't look away from Hartley's face. Couldn't stop cataloging every detail—the way his lips had parted slightly, the sheen of sweat on his collarbones, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The way he was looking at me like he wanted to close the distance between us and fuck the cameras, fuck the consequences.
My cock was fully hard now, pressing insistently against the compression fabric. There was no hiding it. Not at this distance. Not with the way Hartley's gaze had dropped for just a second before snapping back to my face.
“Grant, put your free hand on his shoulder,” Taylor said. “Like you're about to push him back.”
I reached out, placed my palm on his bare shoulder. His skin was burning hot. Damp with sweat that had nothing to do with exertion.
His breath hitched. Just slightly. Just enough that I felt it.
“Jace, same thing. Hand on Grant's shoulder. Push back. Show me the resistance.”
His hand came up, settled on my shoulder. His fingers pressed in, and I felt that touch everywhere. Felt it like a brand.
“Incredible,” Taylor murmured, camera clicking steadily. “The tension is absolutely perfect. One more—Jace, step in closer. Grant, keep that intensity. Like you're about to make a play.”
Hartley moved in, and suddenly there was no space left between us.
My hand slid from his shoulder down his arm without conscious decision. His skin was slick under my palm. I felt him shudder.
His free hand had moved to my ribs, fingers splayed across my side. Not quite touching, but close enough that the heat of his palm burned through the millimeter of space between us.
The sticks between us were the only thing keeping us from being pressed together completely.
“That's the shot,” Taylor said, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. “That's exactly what I needed.”
The camera clicked one final time, and then Taylor lowered it, grinning. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. You two are incredibly photogenic together.”
I stepped back immediately, putting necessary distance between us. My cock was still hard, obvious and uncomfortable. Hartley's wasn't any better—the outline clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shorts.
“I think we have everything we need,” June said smoothly. “Thank you, Taylor. These are going to be wonderful for the campaign.”
“My pleasure.” Taylor was reviewing images on his camera screen, oblivious to the tension. “I'll have the proofs to you by end of week.”
“Perfect.” June gestured toward the wardrobe area. “Gentlemen, go ahead and change. I'll handle the wrap-up here.”
The dressing roomfelt smaller on the way back. Hartley grabbed his shirt and pulled it on while I reached for my dress shirt, both of us moving efficiently.
I was buttoning my shirt when Hartley broke the silence.
“So. That wasn't completely terrible.”
