Harry re-strapped his ankle on the bed while Asher pulled his shirt off and washed in the basin the best he could. He even shaved.
Had Harry been watching him? Asher felt eyes on him, but when he turned, Harry looked away.
Asher turned facing him as he buttoned up his new shirt, giving him all the view he wanted, while he gave Harry some room at the sink.
He too pulled his shirt off and bent over the basin to scrub his face, and Asher leaned against the table to enjoy the view. Harry had barely an ounce of body fat, his wide shoulders and muscular back tapered down to his waist. His lats and serratus anterior muscles defined and so damned sexy, Asher wanted to reach out and touch them.
He didn’t.
He’d thought the other day that Harry didn’t have any scars on his back, but there was one. A very faint line ran along the back of a rib, only visible under certain light and given Asher was barely two feet away and studying every inch of skin.
Harry was every bit his type.
And he didn’t mind playing flirty games with Harry. He was easy to rankle, and it excited Asher to have Harry glare at him the way he did. He could just imagine Harry stalking toward him, furious and demanding...
Asher had to wonder just how far he had to push Harry to make that happen. He was thinking it wasn’t far at all.
Then Harry turned around and Asher admired the front of him. Ripped in all the right places, decorated in scars and ink, and his huge arms that Asher could just imagine holding him down.
Damn.
He drew his gaze up to Harry’s face to find him glaring at him. “Are you fucking done?” Harry asked.
Asher shook his head. “To, co by som ti dovolila, aby si mi urobil.”
Harry fumed. “I don’t even know what fucking language that was, let alone what you said.”
Asher grinned. “Want me to translate?”
“No.”
“I can.”
“I want you to shut the fuck up.”
Asher looked directly at Harry’s crotch, at the very proportionate bulge there.Damn.It made him ache for it. “Have anything to shut me up with?”
Now, Asher expected some angry retort, maybe the threat of violence, but when he finally drew his gaze up to Harry’s, he saw something else there.
Well, there was anger, yes. But there was also something dark.
It was want.
Well now, that was interesting.
“Hand me the stupid fucking shirt.”
Asher held it, and when Harry took it, Asher didn’t let go. He was leaning back, just a little, his legs spread, so if Harry wanted to stand between them, he could.
Harry growled. His nostrils flared. “Don’t try me, Asher.”
Asher let go of the shirt with a smirk. “If we had more time, I absolutely would try you. Thank you for the invitation.”
“It was not an invitation.”
“Pretty sure it was.”
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Asher was almost certain he was counting to ten... or praying for patience. Mumbling something Asher couldn’t hear, Harry pulled the shirt over his head, and fed his arms through the sleeves.