Page 41 of Spilled Coffee

“Fuucckk!” Ethan roared, his reaction visceral as the icy spray hit his skin. He instinctively stumbled back, slamming against the tiled wall with enough force to rattle the glass door. “What the hell, man?!”

The yell that followed could’ve woken the dead, echoing off the tiles like a primal howl. His voice cracked halfway through, devolving into a sputtering gasp as he fumbled against Logan’s grip, his body jerking under the relentless assault of cold water.

“This is torture,” he hissed through chattering teeth, trying to twist away but finding no way to escape.

Logan didn’t flinch at the outburst; he’d expected it.

“Yeah… Well, trust me, you’ll thank me laters,” Logan countered sharply, his exasperation undercut by a thread of something softer—concern buried beneath layers of gruffness.

His hands gripped Ethan’s biceps, steadying him, before he could slip. It wasn’t easy; he might be smaller and shorter, but he was all dead weight and uncoordinated limbs. “Stand up,” he barked, though his tone lacked any venom and soundedmore like someone trying to steady their own nerves than scold someone else.

Ethan let out another groggy groan that might’ve been an apology or just another complaint, but he didn’t argue this time. His head dropped forward briefly before snapping back, those hazy eyes half-lidded were searching for Logan’s face like it was some kind of light in a storm.

White fabric dropped with a faint splash, revealing him fully.

The stark light illuminated every sharp line and curve: lean abs tapering into narrow hips, long legs that seemed carved from marble. Vulnerable wasn’t a look Ethan wore often, but here he was, stripped bare in every sense of the word.

He glanced away, but as Ethan stepped free of his shorts, his gaze quickly snagged back. The moment stretched longer than it should have, long enough for Logan to curse himself for noticing anything about Ethan’s body beyond its drunken state.

He felt like an intruder and yet his eyes betrayed him by lingering where they shouldn’t have been: on the curve of Ethan’s collarbone, on droplets of water sliding down his chest before vanishing into shadows lower down, on scars faintly visible across his tanned skin that told stories Logan didn’t know but wanted to ask about someday.

Ethan swayed, then pitched forward, his head thudding softly against Logan’s shoulder, a low “Hmmm” rumbling out.

For one fleeting moment, Logan froze under the unexpected weight of it all: Ethan’s head resting on his shoulder, his warm breath ghosting against his neck, damp skin pressed flush against his shirt.

“Fuck.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “You’re a mess,” he said—not unkind, but a reminder to himself that someone had to keep things together. Right now that someone was him, whether he liked it or not.

“Logan…” Ethan mumbled his name like it meant something more than just syllables strung together lazily by drunken lips. Those wide, glazed eyes locked onto Logan’s with desperation, longing, or maybe it was just too much alcohol.

Logan barely had time to process the look when a heartbeat later, Ethan’s lips crashed against his in a hot and messy kiss. It was wild, uncoordinated, teeth scraping against lips as if Ethan didn’t know what he was doing but couldn’t stop himself. His hands fumbled at Logan’s sides, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

For a long moment, Logan didn’t move. He was caught completely off guard and overwhelmed by it all. Then instinct kicked in. He gripped Ethan’s shoulders firmly, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his palms, and pushed him back.

“Stop it!” he rasped, voice strained. His heart stuttered and heat spiked through him, along with a surge of adrenaline and something darker, something dangerous that curled low in his gut.

Ethan stumbled, swaying on unsteady feet as Logan held him at arm’s length. His pupils were blown wide now, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. He didn’t resist as Logan twisted the shower and adjusted the temperature.

Warm steam billowed up instantly, curling around them like ghostly tendrils as droplets began to patter against the tiles.

The moment the spray hit, Ethan slumped against the wall with a groan that was equal parts relief and exhaustion. Rivulets of water streamed down his body, tracing every ridge of hard muscle, glistening across his chest and carving paths down his abdomen.

The glass door fogged up almost immediately, obscuring him in a haze, but it wasn’t enough to hide him entirely.

Logan’s throat tightened and he stepped back as if burned by proximity alone. He perched on the toilet lid and let out a longbreath. The cold porcelain seeped through his jeans, grounding him just enough to stop his head from spinning.

He dragged both hands through his hair roughly and exhaled again—longer this time. His pulse was erratic, thudding heavily like his heart was trying to escape.

Behind the fogged-up glass came the muffled sound of water, each splash and drip amplifying the tension coiled in his stomach and each time Ethan’s form shifted, Logan’s gut clenched.

It shouldn’t have affected him. But it did.

Fuck.

Logan shut his eyes as if that might erase the image now seared into his mind—the way Ethan had looked when their lips collided moments ago: flushed cheeks, mussed curls sticking damply to his forehead, those wide eyes full of something that was much too dangerous to name.

“You okay?” He managed, though it came out rougher than he intended.

There was a extremely long pause before Ethan’s voice floated out from behind the glass—groggy but clearer. “Yeah...” He groaned, not in pain but more like someone shaking off a heavy fog. “Thanks.”

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