Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

Jesus, he probably was hard, thinking about pulling Bryan back to bed. "Maybe I should, uh, go take a shower," I said, dropping my roller. Good job, Tony. About as smooth as gravel. Why don't you look at their crotches while you're at it, get your ass fired sooner rather than later.
    I rushed past them and out of the room in a way that was far from subtle. But the awkwardness that caused was better than what might have happened—what I might have done—if I had stayed.
    But now that I was out of the room I had to decide what to do. Having said I was going to take a shower it would be strange if they didn't hear the water come on. So even though I'd already showered earlier that morning I headed to the bathroom and hurriedly stripped, eager for the oblivion the rush of water would bring. Perhaps a long cold shower was exactly what I needed to clear my head, to regain my focus and be ready to work. But as soon as I stepped under the spray I caved, turning the dial to a comfortably warm temperature.
    Soaping my hands with the scented body wash Marcus and Bryan seemed to favor, I began rubbing at my arms— already splattered with paint and spackle after only an hour's work. The shower was a large one and as my mind drifted to the scene from a few minutes before I couldn't help but wonder if Marcus and Bryan shared this shower. There was certainly room for two men, possibly even three.
    I could imagine Bryan standing with his hands on the tile wall, legs spread, and Marcus behind him, hands possessively running over his body, made slippery by the fragrant soap.
    I grew hard at the thought and took myself in hand, the suds making me slippery as I stroked. I imagined Marcus doing the same thing to Bryan. Coming up close behind him and reaching around his hip, taking his hard length in hand as his own erection pressed against Bryan's ass.
    Bryan would shift his hips against him, make Marcus's cock slide between his cheeks. I'd seen the way Bryan liked to flirt, could imagine the way he'd tease and torment. Make Marcus want him badly enough to just take him here against the tile wall; brutal, hot, and fast.
    Or maybe Marcus would turn the tables on him, make sure Bryan was the one begging for it. Marcus could fall to his knees behind Bryan, take advantage of his spread legs and the relaxing effect of the hot water. Use his hands to spread Bryan open and dive in with his tongue, licking and teasing until Bryan was a whimpering mess begging to be fucked.
    The thought of the two of them together, of Bryan's voice broken with desire was more than I could take. I came hard and sudden, splashing against the tile wall in long streaks. My throat felt raw and I desperately hoped I hadn't made enough noise to be heard through these old walls.
    I turned the showerhead so that the water would rinse the evidence of my indiscretion from the wall and hurried out of the shower, throwing my work clothes back on and returning to my project. Two big gulps of my now cold and bitter coffee later and I was as focused as I was going to be. I knew I had to lose myself in my work and that's exactly what I did. Pushing myself harder than I probably should have, hours went by before I was interrupted again.
    When Marcus came to tell me he'd made dinner and that I should join them my shirt was soaked in sweat and my muscles were trembling. He took in the sight of me without comment and left when I nodded at him.
    I had to take my third shower of the day to make myself presentable enough to go down to dinner, but this time I really did take a cold shower—quick and efficient. By the time I sat down at the table I hoped my flush of exertion—and embarrassment—had faded.
    ****
    The dark green color they'd chosen for the study was almost impossible to achieve over the existing white walls. Not to mention all the patching that had been required. When I finally finished the last coat of paint I stood back to admire my work, a sense of immense satisfaction welling up at the sight before me. Marcus and Bryan had good taste—well, at least taste similar to my own. I could easily imagine coming into this room early some morning with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, or ending an evening here with a good book.
    Thoughts like this had been creeping up on me more and more lately. I told myself it was just because I liked the style of the house, and because of the blood and sweat I was putting into restoring it. But I knew it was more than that. It was