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It was Finn who pulled back. “Ten out of ten, will fuck again.”
George laughed down at him. “We haven’t fucked yet.”
“But we will?” Finn asked, he smiled playfully and his eyes shone.
George brought his hand up and stroked his fingers down Finn’s cheek so gently it made Joq ache.
“We will.”
“Just fuck?”
George frowned.
“Just fucking,” he said after a moment.
Finn searched George’s eyes and George let him do it. The way they were looking at each other made Joq think they’d discussed this before.
Eventually, Finn nodded. “Okay.”
George rolled away and got up. He was off camera now and Joq watched as Finn squeezed his eyes closed.
“Order something, no junk,” George said.
“Okay,” Finn replied, eyes still closed.
“Then meet me in the shower.”
Finn’s eyes flicked open and he was looking over to George; Joq couldn’t see George, but he did not miss the sunshine smile breaking over Finn’s face.
Joq lay there, his dick still hard, his eyes on the ceiling, the laptop open, the sound of the shower behind a closed door in that hotel room tinny through his speakers.
“Just fucking,” George had said. Had said it firmly too.
That had not been just fucking. Denial was Joq’s best friend here, but he wasn’t fucking stupid; he knew what he’d just seen. He’d had a lot of hook-ups, friendly ones, intimate ones. He’d never done anything like that. Not even with George.
He heard the shower door open, and rolled his head to the side to watch. George was coming out, towel around his waist, telling Finn he’d get the room service. Finn didn’t emerge.
The thing Joq had to count on, he thought as he watched George slick his wet hair back from his face and lean down to pick up his sweats, was George’s denial. Just fucking.
Joq didn’t know why he kept watching after that. They weren’t doing anything outwardly untoward. Sitting on the bed together near the headboard, George was leaning back and eating with one hand, the other running up and down Finn’s back; Finn was sitting forward, eating one handed as well, his other hand running up the inseam of George’s pants.
They were watching a replay of a game. Joq had to concede Finn had a good head for it after about twenty minutes.
“He’s using Besson wrong,” Finn was saying. “Put him in the mid-field, he’s fast and he’s got skills. If they knock out to him from the centre bounce, he’ll take it and get it to the pocket every time.”
“Hmmm,” George said. “Whose he gonna put in the forward pocket though?”
“Carr,” Finn said like it was obvious.
George snorted. Finn looked over his shoulder at him. “It’s true. He can take a beauty of a mark if you play him right. And he’s not scared to jump for them. All of them.”
“He’s out of shape.”
“Exactly. So why play him in the mid-field? He’s got mad fucking skills though, don’t need to be fit for that.”
“Hmmm,” George said and squeezed Finn’s shoulder before resuming the caress. Joq knew that meant George agreed with the assessment, was taking it in and applying it to his own thinking.
They went on like that for the whole game. The conversation made Joq as uncomfortable as the swapped blowjobs had.
