He wasn’t going to survive much longer like this. He wanted the asshole trying to kill him to finally get the job over with, or he was going to end up begging Royce to fuck him.
Pushing off the wall with his right hand, he reached back and brushed his index finger over his hole once, twice, before shoving it inside. The water was shit for lube, but the brief pain pushed him a little closer to release. He was tired of feeling empty. Wanted to just feel Royce’s hard body against his, pinning him down, plunging inside.
Three hard knocks on the bathroom door were his only warning before the door partially opened. Marc’s heart jumped into his throat and he immediately pressed both hands against the wall in front of him.
“Marc!” Royce called.
“What?” he snarled, not even trying to rein in his frustration. He looked back to find that Royce had only stuck his head inside the bathroom but wasn’t looking toward the shower.
“You almost done? I don’t know what to wear to this damn thing tonight.”
“Five minutes,” he bit out when he was sure he could say it without shouting. His entire body was hovering on a painful edge.
“I thought you said—”
“Five minutes unless you want to get in here and help me!”
“Next time,” Royce said, his words barely audible over the water, before the door closed again.
But they were enough to create a clear image in his head of Royce pressed against his back. His left arm snaked across his chest, nimble fingers pinching his nipple, while his right hand moved steadily over his cock. Strong arms holding him tight, supporting his weight. Teeth biting into his shoulder.
The image had barely solidified in his brain before his orgasm barreled through his body. Marc didn’t bother to hold back his shout as he came. His knees threatened to buckle, and he leaned heavily against the wall just to stay upright. His breath sawed in and out for several seconds. For that brief time, the relief was exquisite. Need no longer gnawed at him, and he felt like a logical human being again.
But it wouldn’t last long.
Grabbing the shampoo bottle, he started the world’s fastest wash. He didn’t want to risk Royce returning to bitch about him taking too long in the shower and ruining the relief he’d found.
Clean and rinsed, Marc dried off and walked out into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair still sending drops of water running down his body. Royce was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing only a pair of black slacks, while holding up a pair of shirts. Colorful tattoos stretched across his shoulders and down one arm, accenting powerful muscles.
When Marc stepped into the room, there was no missing the way Royce’s eyes swept over him. His nostrils flared like he was scenting Marc. A thrill ran through Marc, and his pulse instantly quickened. It was like being hunted by a wild animal. Every muscle in Royce’s body tensed, and he tracked Marc’s steady approach.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Marc said in a low voice when he could finally work the words past his dry throat.
“Why?” The single word rumbled from Royce’s chest, and Marc wanted to roll in his voice.
“Because we don’t have enough time to do all the things that look makes me want to do, so stop.” Marc refused to look at Royce when he spoke.
It was the first time he’d vocally acknowledged the attraction that crackled in the air between them. Marc knew it had nothing to do with him. They were two healthy, gay men with extremely healthy libidos who happened to be attracted to each other. He’d felt the brush of Royce’s hard-on more than once in the course of their acting. They couldn’t keep up their constant contact without repercussions. He just didn’t care for the fact that he would serve as a warm body. A convenient hole.
He grabbed the wooden hanger with the black shirt and tossed it on the bed. “Wear this,” he ordered, trying to ignore the feeling of Royce’s eyes on him, moving over his face. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, waiting for Royce to pounce on him. “I’ve got a black tie and pocket square you can borrow.”
“All black?”
“Yes. I want you to look like an angry, scary artist. Can you handle that?”
“Oh, I think I can handle it just fine.”
“Fabulous.” Marc marched back to the bathroom and to his walk-in closet, his fist tightening in his towel. And of course, his hard-on was back. The brief respite he’d achieved was wiped out in less than thirty seconds of standing next to Royce. He was so screwed…but not in the fun, “let’s get dirty” way.