“Either you sleep on my couch, or I call your smokin’ hot sister and tell her you lied about sleeping at an old friend’s place to avoid going to her house,” he threatened, giving Tanner a sharp look.
He wasn’t being serious—at least, Tanner didn’t think he was—but before he could call him out on it, Lance continued.
“You’re not going to kill yourself with sleep deprivation. Certainly not on my watch.”
“Kill myself with sleep deprivation?” Tanner replied. “Don’t you think that’s overly dramatic?”
“Not even a little bit,” Lance responded with a stern look. It seemed that Tanner had lost this little skirmish, since Big Blue was now headed in the direction of his condo. Lance 1, Tanner 0.
“How do you feel about Asian?” Lance asked, eyes on his phone.
“Depends. Are we talking women? Or food?”
Lance’s boisterous laugh sank deeply into his soul and instantly lifted his spirits. A little voice told Tanner that he was going to need some more of that—whatever “that” was.
That night, Tanner tried something new.
After an evening of pleasant conversation, Chinese food, and good company, Tanner had easily fallen asleep on Lance’s couch. Unfortunately, several hours later, he was awoken by sharp pains in his left leg. Clearly, it was payback for his long day at the zoo. He popped some Tylenol and laid down again, looking around at some of Lance’s pictures while waiting for the pills to kick in. His intentions had been perfectly innocent as his gaze wandered over framed pictures displayed around the living room. But there was one that he kept returning to for some reason.
It was a picture of Lance during his college football days. He looked like a stereotypical jock, but there was also something so remarkably warm and open about his smile that it captured and held Tanner’s attention. It was the same smile he gave Tanner whenever he was looking out for him. He looked so strong, handsome, and charming. Those killer dimples added the perfect touch of humor to his rugged exterior. He caught himself smiling at the picture, just as he noticed a powerful sensation of warmth spreading southward. WTF? Tanner was more than a little shocked to see how his sleep pants had tented. He felt like he was 12 again, discovering that big boobs and fat asses pleased him, except now—neither one of those appeared in this picture. Wasn’t that just a mind fuck? Maybe he should thank Dr. Jones for yammering on and on about the need to do some branching out. Because instead of being put off by this new reaction, he reveled in it.
Reaching for his erection, he focused on Lance’s handsome face, recalling his smile while they were in the pool, his hard chest glistening with beads of water, and that nice six-pack and silky treasure trail.
Fuck.
Fuck.
A whimpered moan escaped, so he bit his bottom lip trying to keep silent. He sped up his strokes and smeared precum all down his shaft to make the glide smoother. The sensation was overwhelming after going so long without any desire for sex. He felt like he couldn’t quite catch his breath, and like maybe, he might not want to. He vividly remembered Lance touching his stomach and shoulders as he’d helped him with his shirt, and how his skin had tingled long afterward. He wanted Lance to touch him again, but this time he wanted those touches all over his body. Desperately. Completely. Fuck.
Before he knew it, his orgasm came rushing up on him. Like a wave crashing upon the shore, it rose and fell, and then it swept him down deep in the undertow, making spots dance behind his eyelids. He trembled in the aftermath. As he slowly recovered, he thought maybe that was the best orgasm he’d ever had.
“Holy fuck!” He whispered and snickered to himself as he cleaned up using his discarded t-shirt.
He’d just come while fantasizing about a man.
Not just any man—
He’d gotten off to Lance fucking Kingsley.
Maybe Tanner had lost his mind. But, hey, the good news was that he’d finally branched out and discovered a new kink. Just what the doctor ordered. Exactly what he was going to do with that knowledge—well, that was the million-dollar question, now wasn’t it? But for now, he’d gotten back a part of himself that he’d thought lost for good, and that had to count as a win.
As he drifted off to sleep, it was to the image of Lance’s exceptional assets.
*****
Lance woke up in the middle of the night with a vague recollection of a strange dream involving giraffes and footballs. Since his mouth was drier than the Sahara, he clambered out of bed, craving a tall glass of lemonade. Still half asleep, he slowly made his way towards the stairs. On his way down, he glanced over the balustrade into the living room to check on Tanner and came to an abrupt halt. The repetitive movement of Tanner’s right hand under the blanket was a dead giveaway. Tanner was jerking off. That wasn’t a problem. What was a problem was that Lance felt like such a fucking creep for just standing there, watching Tanner. He knew he should turn his ass right backaround and go back to bed, thirsty or not. But he was helplessly fascinated by the thought of Tanner’s capable hand wrapped around his leaking cock, pleasuring himself.
Jesus-fucking-Christ.
Tanner’s low moans turned into a smothered growl. Lance still couldn’t move, eyes locked on Tanner as he chased his release. He hung on to every little sound he made. His conscience screamed at him that it was so very wrong, but at the very same time, he felt inexplicably drawn to Tanner. Never had he fantasized about another man. Not even jokingly, but in this moment, it took every ounce of control not to race to Tanner’s side, to watch that sinfully beautiful mouth as he moaned, and to trace his tattoos glistening with sweat.
Fuck. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d been quite this turned on. Certainly never from watching another man rub one out. It was like his very own live porn show. The forbidden nature of it did nothing to quench his sudden rousing desires. It was mindboggling to discover this new side of his sexuality, but it was also undeniable. As Tanner reached his climax, Lance pressed his hand against his own hard on. He strangled a moan as his hand connected with it, knowing he was already far too close. Turning, he stumbled back to his room as silently as possible. Diving under the covers, he yanked down his briefs and wrapped a hand around himself. He barely needed the touch—already hanging on the edge from just watching Tanner. After just a few tugs he erupted, stars clouding his vision as he fought to catch his breath. Satiated and confused, he passed out while imagining how much better his release would have been if Tanner had been there with him.
Chapter 8
The following Monday found Tanner returning to work, looking—and feeling—human for the first time in weeks. Or maybe even longer than that, because Mark whistled admiringly when he walked in.
“Don’t you dare catcall me! Last time I checked, you were spoken for,” Tanner joked as he stopped by his desk to chat.
