Chapter 35
He thought, vaguely: I have Jason. I have friends. That Jason likes. Who want us to be happy.
That was a nice thought, and maybe significant, though he’d have to revisit it when not made of watercolor and stardust. He moved his hand a bit faster over himself, liking the feeling.
Jason, returning, muttered something awed and profane. “If you could see the way you look…”
“Like something you want?” Colby asked hopefully.
“You have no idea. Seriously. Jesus. I want to just—”
“Then why don’t you?”
Jason swore out loud again, shoved jeans and clinging grey boxer-briefs down, took himself in a tight grip as his length jutted out. The head was flushed and dark and fat against his tanned hand. “You want that? You want me to—not be rough with you, I won’t, I would never—but you want me to just take you, how I want—”