“You don’t get a say. Up now, hang on to me.” I’m already steering him toward the hallway, my hand firm on his arm.
Everyone’s eyes are on us. I know I’m probably making too much of a simple bump, but I’m already down the hall to the bathroom before I can stop myself.
We push into the tiny bathroom with white tiles and a skinny pedestal sink that leaves barely any space for two grown men without us brushing against each other. I shut the door and twist the lock, the click seeming unnaturally loud in the enclosed space.
“This is nothing,” George mutters, his face flushed.
I dig through my messenger bag for the small medical kit I’ve been carrying everywhere lately. “Shut up and sit.” I point at the closed toilet lid.
He drops onto it with a reluctant sigh. I kneel between his spread thighs and go straight for his belt buckle. My fingers aren’t quite steady, but I blame the leftover rush from watching him take that hit.
George lifts his hips so I can slide his jeans down. Black boxer briefs underneath, bandage still taped to his thigh.
“Probably overkill,” he says.
“Blunt force on a healing wound can cause bleeding or reopening of the site,” I answer, peeling the bandage backcarefully. The skin is red from the impact, but nothing has torn open. I let out a slow breath. “Okay, it’s just irritated.”
“Told you.” His voice stays soft, almost gentle. “It’s not that sore anymore. It hurt more right when it happened.”
I keep my fingers on him, pressing lightly, checking for any deeper tenderness. The familiar wound check routine steadies me.
Then I look up.
The sight hits me hard. I’m on my knees between George’s legs, his jeans around his ankles, thick thighs parted wide. We’re locked in this tiny bathroom while our friends are just in the lounge outside the door.
Now he’s looking down at me with that dark, heavy set of eyes. His breathing has gone deeper and rougher. His good arm braces against the toilet seat, tilting his hips forward. My eyes drop and I see the thick outline of his cock swelling against the front of his black boxer briefs.
Fuck.
It keeps growing, pushing shamelessly against the cotton right here in front of my face.
“Shit,” George mutters, putting his good hand over his dick in a poor attempt to hide it. “Sorry. Stand up so I can pull my pants back up.”
I should stand and kill the tension. Help him get dressed and get us both out of here and back to our friends. That would be the right thing to do.
Instead, I give him the slowest, hottest smirk I can manage.
“Lance.” His voice comes out strained, warning me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Call out the massive hard-on you’ve got right now?” I knock his hand off his cock, shift my weight on my knees and watch that thing between his legs twitch hard. “We could take care of more than just the bandage while we’re in here.”
“They’re right outside.”
“I know.” I should stop staring at the blatant stretch of his underwear, but I can’t. The shape of him is ridiculous.
His hand lands on my shoulder, his grip solid and eyes almost pleading. “Cut the shit. This isn’t funny.”
I meet them with mine straight on. “Who said I’m joking?”
The air in the bathroom shifts as it gets heavier. His fingers tighten on my shoulder, pupils flaring wide even under the harsh light. We’re both breathing harder now, the tiny space closing in around us.
“Thought we’re taking it slow, starting with the basics?” he reasons out.
I smirk wider. “You mean kissing for the first time and probably getting even harder? While you’re sitting here with a full-on beam? Come on, G.”
I know he thinks I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but his face looks like he’s getting it that this would only lead to one thing. “It’s just…it’s been a while since I could really take care of it properly.”
“You mean…you haven’t jerked off for a while now?”
