John stripped off his shirt and lay down, spread out over the bed, so completely gorgeous. A huge hulk of a man, broad with muscle, but allowing himself to be vulnerable for Brett.
Carefully, he put his hands on him and wondered just what it was about John that could have him thinking about sex as he did something that had never before been sexual to him. But he was good. He kept his hands where they belonged and focused on the tension he could feel in John’s muscles.
He had known that just once wouldn’t be able to get rid of all of that tension, but he was able to chip away at it more. And as he always did, he soon lost himself in the smooth interplay of the muscles together, in getting all of the strands, the knotted fibers, of the muscles to lie smooth and flat again.
His arms, his fingers, burned. His own lower back was tight and felt hot, because the bed wasn’t on the right level, and he had to bend over at an awkward angle. But those things, he ignored.
Until John’s hand raised and Brett felt fingers on the back of his leg, a gentle, questing hand, one that seemed to ask a question which neither of them could have made themselves say out loud.
For a moment, Brett’s hands stilled, as he tried to adjust to the flaming arrow of desire which arched through his body, aimed right at the very pit of his stomach. He knew what that question was, even without John saying it, and he knew what his answer would be.
“Sit down. It can’t be comfortable, leaning over like that,” John murmured, and it was then that Brett realized just how sore his own body really was, after so many hours of tending to other people’s pain. “It’ll be easier if you sit on the bed with me.”
On the bed, Brett could do him one better. He straddled John’s hips, settling on the sweet round of his ass, and even though he had never done anything so intimate with anyone before, it somehow felt right.
