“This is not being good!”
“No, you’re right. We need to make some changes here.”
Aiden gasped as Tristan started to rearrange him on the table.
* * * *
Tristan grabbed hold of Aiden and somehow managed to get the pillow he had his feet on up under his hip, and while he was already moving around, he took the opportunity to unbutton his jeans. He was so fucking hard he didn’t know what to do—or he knew what to do, he just had to get Aiden to see it, too.
He ran a hand over the smooth, slippery skin. The table creaked but it held firm. He loved the way the light reflected off Aiden’s skin. How long had it been since he’d been allowed to simply look at him? Ages. Aiden was always tired. Tristan had taken his stiff movements for reluctance. How long had he been in pain without telling him?