It actually glides, that t-shirt. And it’s only because his muscles are sliding underneath.
His muscles are fluttering and twitching underneath.
Especially the muscles of his shoulders, rolling every time he rears his arms back, one after the other.
Also his pectorals and his obliques.
They move too. They judder and shake at every impact.
And then there are his upper back muscles. What are they called again? I don’t know. All I know is that they span out and flutter like wings as he keeps hitting that leather bag, much like his shoulders.
Fun fact: he’s got two dimples on his back.
Yeah.
I saw them myself last night when he was drawing me a bath.
I also counted his eight pack. Just sayin’.
Another fun fact: I loved that he drew a bath for me after we had sex.
And not only that, after putting me in the hot water, he got in himself. He sat propped up against the tub before he settled me between his spread legs, propping my back against him.
Turning around, my arm pressed to his hot chest, I asked him, “Alaric?”
He looked down, his face misty and beautiful, dotted with droplets of water, all softened and relaxed. “Poe.”
“Why are we taking a bath?”
He studied my face, his arms resting on the rim of the tub. “Because you need it.”
“How do you know I need a bath?”
“Because you’re going to be sore pretty soon. And this should help loosen up your muscles.”
My eyes went wide and his lips twitched. “Oh, right. You mean after our very first sex.”
“Yes, Poe, after our very first sex.”
“You’re so intelligent, aren’t you?” Then before he could say anything, I said all breathily, “Thank you.”
His arms came around me, turning me back around and splashing water everywhere. “Now, I want you to relax and close your eyes, all right?”
He put his chin on my head and held me tight, rubbing my arms with his rough but cozy fingers, and so I forgot what I wanted to say anyway. Until I felt him. At the small of my back.
His dick.
Growing hard.
Opening my eyes, I whispered, “Alaric?”
His chest vibrated with a deep hum. “Poe.”
“I feel it.”
“Ignore it.”
I squirmed, rubbing my back against it. “I can’t. He’s my friend.”
“What?”
I turned around to look up at him again. “What, are you saying he’s not my friend?” I frowned. “I hate to break it to you, Alaric, but your dick is my friend. He made me feel good. And people who make you feel good are your friends.”
He shot me a look like I’d lost my mind. “Well, the people will be glad to hear that. Why don’t you try to relax now?”
I frowned harder. “And you’re my friend too, just so you know. I know you were dead against it, so.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, looking up.
I poked his chest. “You are.”
Looking down, he agreed, “Fine, Poe. I’m your fucking friend. Now shut your mouth.”
Again, he turned me back around and wrapped his arms tightly around me.
I frowned at the tiled wall. “Well, that was mean.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“And just for that I’m going to buy us a matching pair of friendship bracelets — another thing you were dead against. And force you to wear one.”
“Fine.”
“All the time.”
“Got it.”
“It’s going to be purple.”
“Poe.”
“Just sayin’.”
His response was to growl.
But I kept going. “It’s too big though.”
He squeezed his arms around me again. “For the love of God, Poe.”
“It’s a baseball bat.” Then, “No, wait. It’s a snake. An anaconda.”
Finally, he turned me toward him himself and growled again, his jaw hard, “What the fuck do you want?”
I cupped that harsh jaw as I whispered, “To take care of you.”
It clenched, emotions flickering over his beautiful face. “It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“You’re hurting.”
“No, I’m not.”
“It’s going to bruise tomorrow.”
“No, it won’t.”
“But —”
“If you go about taking care of me every time my dick got hard around you, Poe, then you’d be spending your life flat on your back, your thighs spread and your cherry pie snatch open for me.”
At this, my mouth went wide too, in addition to my eyes, as I breathed, “No way. Really?”
A puff of breath escaped him and he responded as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know.”
Tightening his arms around my body, he continued, “So I want you to stop giving me fuck-me eyes and go to sleep.”
I studied his face, rubbing my fingers on his cheek. “I’m sorry I tortured you. I’m sorry I was so stupid that I ran after him. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m —”
He pressed his mouth over mine to get me to stop talking, before he growled, “Sleep. Now, baby.”
So I shut up.
But not before I thanked him again.
Because he called me baby. Because he promised he would and he did.
And I still hear it, hours and hours later, standing here in the gym, watching him pound his heavy bag like it’s destined for hell. A second later, he stops though, his chest heaving, his hands that are wrapped up in white tape splayed wide on the leather bag, and his face ducked.