The Studying Hours

I shimmy my sheer, blue underwear up my slender thighs.

Turn to flush.

Raise my head to check myself in mirror as I wash my—

“Fuck Jameson.” My name is drawn out in a husky, forced moan.

I gasp, scared shitless.

“Holy shit!” I yell, swatting a startled hand toward Oz. If I had a weapon, I’d club him with it. “You asshole! You scared the crap out of me—”

“Fuck Jameson.”

“Wh-what…I’m so sorry. I thought you were in bed!”

I spin toward the sink, our eyes meeting in the mirror, mine widening in shock, his in pleasure, then I finally let them trail down his thick, bent, pumping arm. Red mesh athletic shorts pool around his ankles, his large hand wrapped around the length of his hard—

“Oh my god.”

I do a swift check, just to be sure. Yup. Sebastian Osborne is masturbating in the bathroom, and I just peed two feet from him.

Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.

And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to.

Sebastian

“Oh my god Oz, what the hell are you doing!” The high-pitched indignation is completely unnecessary as Jameson meets my aroused, half-lidded eyes in the mirror. Hers are round with shock and horror and something else entirely as she casts surreptitious glances down at my stroking palm.

Twice.

Three times.

“I would think it was pretty obvious what I’m doing,” I grunt out, words catching with each even stroke. “Besides, this is your fault.”

“My fault!” She stands frozen at the sink, back to me while water drips from her wet hands. “You’re masturbating while I peed, you freaking creeper! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Maybe you should have thought of all this before you stripped down to that skimpy underwear and got me hard with that shaved pussy of yours.”

“I-I…how…”

Another slow stroke up and down the blunt tip of my dick and my eyes flutter shut. “Everything about you makes me hard. I don’t know what my fucking problem is.” Goddamn this feels good. “Jesus Jameson, the door was closed. Who’d you think was in here?”

“I… You didn’t lock it, jackass! Plus, it’s one o’clock in the morning! I thought you were in bed!”

“I was. Now I’m not.”

For the fourth time, her eyes stray, landing on the hard, pulsing cock in my hand. I pump it once while she watches and let out a satisfied groan as it gets harder while I fist it.

“You disgust me.”

Such a pretty little liar.

“Do I really? Then why are you…ugh fuck me…” I pant. “Why are you still standing there? You like it, don’t you?”

Shit, I’ve never been one for exhibitionism in the past, but having her watch me jack off gets me even harder.

Holy hell, that little she-devil fucking likes it.

Seconds go by before she remembers herself, before she spins on her heel and slams out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her with a bang. It rattles on its hinges but I don’t hear her footfalls walk away.

Instead, I recognize the sound of someone slouching against the door. A few more seconds, and a throat is cleared.

“Hey Oz?”

I stroke myself slowly to the sound of her voice, teeth raking my bottom lip. “Yeah?”

I stop myself from adding baby, an instinctual reply I somehow don’t think she’d appreciate.

Another rapid stroke. Shit. Fuck. I’m so close to coming.

“Sorry I busted in on you.”

My thumb caresses the tip of my cock, spreads the pre-come, and I suck in a labored breath to control the inflection of my speech when the first tell of my balls tightening makes them ache.

Somehow, I find my voice. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you wanna watch…oh fuck this feels good.”

The sound of her labored breathing comes at me muted and I imagine her, forehead pressed to the cool door, listening.

She is listening to me jerk it—I just fucking know it.

“Say something.”

Speech wavering, she complies. “Rule number seven,” she gulps. “No masturbating in the bathroom.”

“James? Amend rule number seven to read: no masturbatory emissions with the door unlocked, and you have yourself a deal.”

Unable to control it, I moan.

“Fine.”

The silence is almost deafening, until I hear the sound of her finally moving away.

“Fine.” I come in my hand, in the dim bathroom.

Alone.

Jameson

I can’t fall back asleep; I’m pretty sure he can’t either.

I’m pretty sure he was moaning my name.

Sebastian was moaning my name—and the last thing I need is to be the porn star in some jock’s nocturnal emissions.

Both of us wide awake, the weight of the mattress dips when he shifts, moving closer toward me.

“Hey James?”

He’s rarely called me James since the day we met—it’s always Jim or Jimbo—and I like the sound of him whispering my name.

Rolling toward him in the dark to seek out his voice, it sounds a mere inch away. Sharing a bed was probably a horrible idea, but there’s no turning back now, and it beats the hell out of having one of us sleep on the bodily fluid-soaked hotel floor.

Just the thought of what’s on the carpet below gives me the heebs.

“Yeah?”