Page 13 of Full Split
We're all so exhausted we don't even talk about dinner options. There's a small, self-serve convenience market in the far corner of the lobby. We grab some pre-packaged sandwiches, a few apples, all the bananas they have out, and several bottles of water before we trudge to the elevators.
"Why are you so tired?" I say, poking Weston in the small of his back. "You slept practically the whole trip."
"Yeah, well, I'm sore in places I don't want to talk about. My spinal alignment is screwed," he says with a dramatic groan as the elevator doors open.
"You poor thing," I mock. "You gonna make it through this week, champ?"
"A soak in the tub will sort me out." I huff a laugh. The large hotel soaking tubs are Weston's favorite part of any trip. He spends more time in the bathtub than he does warming up. "I'm so ready for it. Brought my bubble bath and everything. Got some of those cooling sheet masks, too."
"You mean the ones that make you look like Leatherface's polite cousin?"
"You're just jealous of my flawless skin. You wish you were this pretty."
I laugh as we lug our stuff into the elevator, shuffling back so a family with a sleeping toddler can squeeze in with us. Weston, against the wall near the front, hits the button for our floor, and it's a long, awkwardly silent ride. Adjusting my gym bag, I shift slightly to the side, the motion accidentally pushing my back almost flush against Wyatt's chest. It's unintentional. It is at first, at least.
Wyatt's breath hitches just enough that I can barely hear it. I don't move away. Instead, I shift again, goosebumps breaking out over my neck at his proximity. When my ass just barely grazes his thigh, I hold my breath. A second later, I swear I feel something harden behind me. It's not something I should beso aware of. It's definitely not something I should lean into. I definitely shouldn't press back against him…
But I do. I can't help it. I shift back to rub against him. Just slightly. Just enough to feel the tension coil, his posture rigid. I'm not sure either of us are breathing. My cock grows hard and aches to be touched.
Keeping my eyes forward and watching Weston in my periphery—he's looking at his phone and paying no mind to anyone else in the elevator, I slowly roll my hips back against him. And… yep. Either he slipped one of those bananas in his pocket, or he?—
Wyatt's hand is suddenly at my waist, firm pressure sending warmth radiating out from his touch, holding me away from his body. His grip is tight. Tight enough that I think he might leave marks.God, I hope he leaves marks.
I clear my throat quietly, but I don't look at him. I don't have to. The heat rolls off him in waves, the abnormal ragged tempo of his breaths echoing in my ear. I notice the tiny shift of his weight as he tries to angle away from my body without being obvious.
Every second is sweet torture. My skin is flushed, lit up with the thrill of getting this reaction from him.
Doeshe want me? Could he really?
The elevator dings and the family steps out, leaving just the three of us for two more floors. We spread out slightly, and I bite back a smirk when I see Wyatt clutching his duffel in front of him like a shield.
Our rooms are at the very end of the hall, next to each other. We almost always book adjoining rooms when they're available. When West and I were younger, we all shared a room andhe and I shared a bed. We each get our own bed now, thank goodness. Sleeping next to a starfish who is nearly twice your size is excruciating. Also, he's a blanket hog. Listening to him snore from the other bed is bad enough, thanks. Once we're Olympians, maybe we can all have our own rooms.
Weston disappears into the bathroom before I even get my shoes off. I wander in after him when I hear him turn the tub faucet on. He's already wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe that's barely holding together around his chest. He's at least still wearing underwear, not that I haven't had to look at his dick flopping around occasionally. We've been like brothers since we were five. We've definitely seen each other's junk a time or two, and it's not uncommon for us to change, adjust ourselves, or pee around each other.
"Dude, really?"
"What? I'm about to have a whole spa night," he says as he sets various products on the side of the tub.
"You couldn't wait until I got a chance to use the bathroom? What if I had to take a shit or something?" I shake my head and walk over to the toilet.
As soon as I sit down, Weston narrows his eyes. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, shut up. I just have to pee."
When I'm done and get my hands washed, I leave my best friend shrouded in a lavender-scented steam. The water sloshes around as he gets situated and then turns around to call out before I shut the door.
"Will you bring me my sandwich? I want to eat it in the tub like a Roman emperor."
"Is that something Roman emperors were known for?"
He shrugs. "Probably. Seems legit."
I shake my head and laugh. "Yeah, alright."
As I dig through the goodie bag, I realize we put everything together. Wyatt's sandwich is in the bag with ours. Which gives me an idea…
Back in the bathroom, Weston's already got his weird, wet paper mask thing on. He doesn't even open his eyes, just reaches his arm out over the edge of the bathtub to accept his sandwich.
