Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

later.”
    As he walked by, he felt Blay’s eyes on him—but they weren’t on the level of his face. At least, it didn’t seem like it.
    What the
fuck
was going on here?
    Pushing out into the hall, he paused to double-check that the concrete walls weren’t melting and that he didn’t suddenly have fish for hands or something. Neither were true, but a trippy sense of unreality dogged him as he went down to the locker room. A shower was mandatory; he was covered in sweat, and as much as the
doggen
loved a good mess, he wasn’t about to give them more work just because he’d tried to kill himself in the gym—
    Hard. Aroused. Ready for sex.
    As that image of Blay battered around the inside of his skull, he closed his eyes, and then hit the door into the land of tile and water fixtures. He intended to go over to the showers directly, but ended up stalling out in the front half of the room, where the lockers were stacked in orderly rows and the benches ran down the middle of the aisles.
    Parking it, he unlaced his Nikes, kicked them off, and peeled his socks free.
    Totally fucking aroused.
    Blay had been out of his mind for it.
    For some reason, Qhuinn’s last two sexual encounters popped into his head. There had been that redheaded guy at the Iron Mask—the one he’d seduced and fucked in the bathroom. He’d picked the random out of the crowd for that one defining physical characteristic, and naturally the sesh had done nothing extraordinary for him. Then again, it had been like wanting Herradura, and putting ginger ale down your throat.
    And then there had been the stuff with Layla—which had been nothing but a physically demanding job, like digging a trench or building a wall….
    God, he felt like a louse for thinking like that—and he meant no disrespect to the Chosen. But at least it was fairly clear she was of a similar mind.
    That was it for the last year. Just those two.
    Nearly twelve months of nothing, and he hadn’t been jerking off, either. He just wasn’t interested in anything, like his balls had gone into hibernation.
    Funny, right after his transition he’d banged anything with two legs and a beating heart, and as he struggled to remember some of those many faces—God knew he hadn’t bothered to get names a lot of the time—an uncomfortable feeling tightened his gut.
    All that anonymous, nameless, faceless fucking…in front of Blay. Always with the guy, come to think of it. At the time, it had felt like a buddy/buddy kind of situation, but now he wondered.
    Yeah, screw that. He
knew
what it had been about.
    He was such a pussy, wasn’t he.
    Getting to his feet, he stripped naked and let his wifebeater and his b-ball shorts flop onto the bench in a wet mess. Walking to the shower room, he picked one of the showerheads at random, cranked the thing on, and stepped under the spray. The water was nut-shrinking cold, but he didn’t care. He faced the onslaught, shutting his lids and opening his mouth.
    That redhead in the club almost a year ago? When he’d been seducing the guy into the loo, it had been Blay in his mind the whole time.
    It was Blay who’d he’d pushed back against the sink and kissed hard. Blay’s cock he’d sucked off, and Blay’s body he’d taken from behind and—
    “For the love…” he groaned.
    From out of nowhere, the image of his old friend sitting on the machine just now, his knees wide, his cock straining against the oh-so-thin material of those shorts entered his mind and shot down his spine, going straight between his legs. With a curse, he sagged and had to put a hand out on the slick tile.
    “Oh…fuck…”
    Leaning in, he rested his forehead on his arm and tried to concentrate on the feel of the water hitting the nape of his neck.
    Not even close.
    All he was aware of was the heartbeat in his cock.
    Well, that and a ringing fantasy of him dropping to his knees and pressing in between Blay’s open thighs, licking his way into that mouth…while burrowing under the waistband of those shorts and starting to give the guy a hand job he would never fucking forget.
    Among so many other things.
    Turning around to face away from the spray, Qhuinn pushed his hands into his hair, sluicing it back, arching his spine.
    He could feel his cock sticking straight out from his hips, begging for attention.
    But he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Blay deserved better than that somehow—yeah, it didn’t make sense, but it just felt nasty to be jerking off