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Luca laughed loudly. “God. If it was that big it might kill someone.”
“Yeah, but what a way to go!”
Their shared laughter continued, and Luca was shocked by how hard his dick remained. The fact that they were goofing around should have been an internal signal to calm down. Instead, the sheer playfulness of the interaction was somehow making it worse. The knowledge that just below that plate, Artair was hard as stone and desperate to get off.
And it seemed like Artair was having the same kind of thoughts, given the way the plate kept lifting against his grip every few seconds.
Fuck, he’s throbbing like crazy . . .
Artair drummed his fingers against the crockery. “Sooo, I should probably go to the other log, huh?”
Luca smiled at him, warm from the fire and mead.
What he should have said was: Yeah, probably.
Because that would be the smart thing.
Move away from each other.
Wait for the moment to fade.
Laugh it off.
What he shouldn’t have done was tell Artair that it was no big deal.
What he shouldn’t have done was rationalize that it was nothing.
What he shouldn’t have done was say that they could both control themselves. And that it didn’t matter. And that he still wanted to learn how Artair played the guitar so beautifully.
What he shouldn’t have done was convince the man to retake the position—strong arm around his back. Beards rubbing together. Warmth intertwined.
What he shouldn’t have done was sneak a look at the beast that was straining Artair’s denim, now on full display and throbbing hard at their contact.
Because it was obvious that he shouldn’t do that.
Because it was logical that he shouldn’t do that.
And yet, he did.
Artair guided Luca’s fingers over the strings. Luca felt haste and hesitation there. Some desire to run slow fingernails up Luca’s hand, mixed with the knowledge that he shouldn’t.
His touch came with an elevated pulse—two heartbeats drumming in perfect time.
They made casual conversation, totally at odds with the thump they shared—chests and bellies and cocks.
“Well, your D isn’t wobbly at least?” whispered Artair, his breath hot against Luca’s cheek.
It was meant to be humorous.
A joke.
But neither of them laughed.
Because now Luca’s shoulder was burrowing into Artair’s soft and inviting chest.
Because now Artair’s fingers were brushing against the cuff of Luca’s wrist.
Because now Luca was patting Artair’s incredibly thick thigh, congratulating him on the joke.
