Page 70 of Men in Shorts

Finally, with a long deep breath and a nod to himself, Fergus headed for the door. As he moved, his long, nimble fingers loosened, then removed his towel. John sat frozen with admiration for his boyfriend’s newfound courage—not to mention his perfect arse—until Fergus stopped at the threshold and turned, displaying a towering erection that somehow looked even larger here than it did at home.

“How ’bout it, then?” Fergus said.

John leaped off the bar stool, nearly tripping in his haste.

As he reached the spa pool, John whipped off his own towel and hung it on the hook beside his boyfriend’s. Fergus was already waiting for him at the top of the small staircase beside the pool. He took John’s hand, then together they descended.

The hot, bubbling water set John’s nerves afire, and he barely noticed the three men at the other end of the pool as Fergus pulled him to sit on the tile bench beside him.

He took a moment to luxuriate in the roiling water. “Och, this feels amazing. We need one at home.”

“Yeah?” Fergus looped an arm around John’s shoulders and drew him close. “And where’s home for you?” he asked, still playing the game.

“Right here.” John took Fergus’s mouth, first in a soft kiss, then tugging his bottom lip with his teeth.

Fergus kissed his way over John’s jaw, then down his neck. When John opened his eyes, he saw the other three lads, who were now in one another’s laps, looking like one body with three heads and (he assumed) six legs. They watched John and Fergus with bright-eyed interest.

“Hi again!” shouted the blond one over the rushing water. “You two need some company?”

“Nah, we’re good!” To drive home his point, John turned his back on the other lads, then shifted to straddle Fergus’s lap. “This is all we need,” he murmured.

“Aye.” Fergus held him steady. “All I’ll ever need.”

John gazed down into the eyes he knew so well, eyes that seemed to darken and lighten with Fergus’s moods. In their hazel depths, he searched for hints of doubt and unease.

Miraculously, there were none. Fergus was here. Fergus was his.

He cupped John’s jaw with one hot, wet hand, then kissed him so slow and deep, John’s mind began to swim, rising and dipping with the waves around him. Fergus’s other hand slid down over John’s hip, then forward until his fingertips brushed the base of his shaft. John gasped into Fergus’s mouth, squirming with need until that hand wrapped around his length.

Fergus’s strokes began, as slow and strong as his kiss. His tongue swirled in John’s mouth as his thumb flicked over the ridge beneath his head with each pass.

With a muffled moan, John linked his arms around Fergus’s neck, holding tight on this strangely intimate ride. He marveled that here in a bathhouse, in the presence of other men, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world.

Fergus took John higher with each stroke, a slow but inexorable climb that sent blood pounding through every cell. Thighs locked tight around Fergus’s, John forced himself to hold still and dwell in this kiss, in the taste of absolute trust on his tongue.

Finally the pressure of the swirling water and Fergus’s hand became too much. “I’m gonnae come if you don’t stop,” John said.

“I’m not stopping, so…” Fergus licked the corner of John’s mouth, slipping the tip of his tongue inside. “I guess you’ll be coming.”

“Here?” John panted. “Now?”

“Here. Now.” Fergus gripped him harder and stroked faster. “Everywhere. Always.”

As the orgasm swept over him, John slung his head back and cried out, not caring who saw or heard. All that mattered was Fergus, whose shoulders John now clutched to keep from dissolving and drowning in the heat that flowed around, through, and out of his body.

When the final shudders subsided, John slid his hand down Fergus’s smooth chest, over his tight, defined abs, until it arrived at the base of Fergus’s rigid cock. “My turn,” he said, his thumb and forefinger encircling the shaft. “I want to make you?—”

“Wait.” Fergus gently removed John’s hand. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Fergus took John’s face between his palms and pressed their foreheads together. “Look, I know we just met and all, but I think I’m in love with you.”

John chuckled. “Me too. With you, I mean, not me.”

“In fact…” Fergus shut his eyes tight. “This will sound absolutely mad, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me too. Again, withyou, not me.” John kissed him softly, his mind still draped in a post-orgasmic fog. “I’m pretty much stuck with me.”

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