“I’m not helpless!”
“I know. My sponge bath skills are totally wasted.” Dylan blotted Apollo’s shoulders and back with quick, efficient strokes before dabbing at his pecs and stomach. “Although, abs like these, you deserve all the body worship. Just saying.”
“Job keeps me fit.” Apollo shifted side-to-side, not really sure how to deal with the blatant approval in Dylan’s flashing blue eyes, not when he was feeling anything but fit. Hell, he’d once carried a wounded hostage fifteen hours and here he was felled by a bad back, too stiff to even put his own pants on? Life just kept on laughing at him.
He grabbed the pants from the bathroom vanity and shook them out.
“Hey wait, your legs are still wet.” Dylan took the pants and set them back on the counter. Then he knelt, toweling off each of Apollo’s legs in turn. And really, there was nothing overtly sexy in the action, but his soft curls grazed Apollo’s thigh and his breath was warm, even on Apollo’s overheated skin. Predictably, his dick responded to the proximity of a cute guy on his knees.
“Pants. Now,” Apollo growled.
“Okay. Okay.” Dylan helped him step into the pants, then pulled them up, avoiding Apollo’s now-raging hard-on. “It happens, you know? I’m not reading anything into it—”
“Please stop talking.” Apollo yanked on Dylan’s shoulder until he stood up.
“I’m just saying, nothing to be embarrassed about.” Dylan was still way too close to Apollo’s bare chest. “I’m flattered, really—”
“Stop. Talking.” Apollo grabbed Dylan’s face so that he could beam the message directly into his eyes, but grossly underestimated what lining up their faces would do to his senses.
Dylan laughed, but his eyes were far less sure than his laugh, peering warily up at Apollo. He opened his mouth like he had another platitude in him, and Apollo lost his head. That was the only explanation, really, for why his lips slammed down on Dylan’s mouth.
Someday he was going to kiss Dylan slow and sweet. Controlled. Not the all-out frenzy that seemed to descend whenever their mouths collided. This wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t pretty. It was rough and urgent and needy. So needy. Back to the wall, he pulled Dylan against him. Dylan tasted buttery, like he’d been sampling his own cooking, and like the inexplicable mystery that was him—Apollo could spend years trying to sort out the subtle notes in his flavor and scent that drove him insane.
“Fuck.” Panting, Dylan broke away. “Really wasn’t intending that. I promised not to come on to you.”
“It’s on me.” Apollo didn’t release his grasp on Dylan’s waist and face. “I have no idea what we’re doing here. Just that I can’t seem to stop kissing you.”
“Then kiss me.” Dylan leaned in, and he had far more finesse than Apollo, nipping and sucking at his lips, gently coaxing his way into Apollo’s mouth with a slow, thorough exploration that made Apollo’s dick throb.
He moaned low in the back of his throat, hand snaking under Dylan’s T-shirt, needing skin right that minute. Dylan was warm. Vital. Alive. All hard muscles, heaving with the force of his breath as he rubbed up against Apollo.
“This okay?” Dylan kept kissing him, little sips between words as he stroked down Apollo’s chest, hand stopping right at the waistband of Apollo’s pants. “Dying to touch you.”
Dylan letting him decide what he was up for made warmth spread across his chest. Dylan was so fucking sweet. He deserved more than some frantic bathroom makeout session, more than Apollo grunting out, “yeah,” like real conversation, real thought might undo him. A better man would end this right here, not groan like he’d been shot when Dylan palmed him through the fabric.
“Geez. Such a cliché.” Dylan’s laugh was almost like a kiss itself, friendly and reassuring. “Big, bad, hung SEAL. Surely not all of you are packing like porn stars, but damn you are, and it’s so fucking sexy.”
“Kiss me,” Apollo commanded. He didn’t want to stop to talk about how he was hung. Didn’t want to stop and think period. Best way he knew to shut Dylan up was with his mouth, with more opiate-powerful kisses, the ones that numbed all the objections in his brain until all he wanted was to feel. Feel more of Dylan’s lips. More of his gasps and moans. Feel his grip, sure and strong on Apollo’s cock. Dylan shoved Apollo’s pants down, and the first touch of his fingers on Apollo’s bare dick had his head thrashing against the wall.
His hand tightened on Dylan’s back even as his other hand scrambled for the zipper on Dylan’s cargo shorts. Heck. Why couldn’t he find it? A frustrated noise escaped his throat.
“No zipper.” Dylan let go of Apollo long enough to shove his shorts down. Then his mouth returned to Apollo’s, hand finding his dick again, and all was right with the world. Apollo would give up an awful lot just to live in this moment permanently. Dylan’s dick painted a damp, insistent strip against Apollo’s upper thigh.