Ashton leaned back on his elbows, chest heaving while he caught his breath. Lance climbed off the bed, sleek limbed and graceful. Ashton narrowed his eyes.
"You do remember you have a bed of your own?" he grumbled, not sure if he wanted to pull his friend's sweet ass into his arms or punch him in the face.
Lance gave him a smirk over his shoulder, making a show of licking the last of Ashton's spunk from his swollen lips. "You told me to wake you at seven."
"I didn't mean… Oh, hell." Ashton fell back on the pillows and threw an arm over his eyes. He swore in exasperation when the mattress dipped and Lance's warm scent drifted over him. "Dammit—"
Soft fingers touched his mouth. "Don't be mad, baby. I didn't mean anything."
Ashton peeked. The man looked positively forlorn and Ashton sat up, giving him a one-armed hug. "I'm not mad. But you don't need to keep doing that either. You're my friend! Stay here as long as you want." He kissed the blushing cheek beside his. "I like the company."
"And I like you." Lance walked his fingers down Ashton's thigh. Ashton laughed and shooed his hand away, but couldn't help seeing his friend's blatant interest between his legs.
He shook his head in mock dismay. "Can I take care of that for you?"
"Not at all." Lance stood in a single fluid motion, waving off Ashton's offer. "I'll deal with it in the shower. You have to save yourself for Mr. Man."
"Who are you talking about… Wait!" Ashton rolled off the bed and trotted after Lance heading for the single bathroom.
Lance tittered, slipping behind the bathroom door, but held it open an inch. Pouty, kissable lips smiled at Ashton. "You know, the Boss. Mr. Kent."
"I'm not saving myself for—"
Ashton blinked at the closed door. Why in the world would Lance think he was interested in his boss? Sure, the man was handsome as sin, but he was also an egomaniac and tyrant. Why only yesterday he'd…
Hot blood scorched Ashton's neck and face, his arm tingling where Morgan Kent had gripped it, towered over him. The man had bent to his ear, swamping Ashton's senses with subtle cologne and the spice of sweat as he whispered, "If you can't type a simple letter without mistakes, I'll find a secretary who can." He hand tightened almost painfully on Ashton's arm. "Or maybe I should just bend you over this desk and swat your ass for each mistake?"
Ashton's dick jumped with the memory. He told it sternly to behave. "We're not falling for that bastard. We'll stick with the sweet boys at the club and call it good."
He heard the water turn on in the shower and sighed. Between two jobs and school, life was getting complicated. He padded across the living room to the small alcove where they'd put Lance's new mattress. Neither one of them had money for a frame until Ashton got his next paycheck. A mound of clothes covered the bedspread and a smile tugged his lips. "No wonder you didn't want to sleep here."
He sighed again and fell headlong into the soft pile, breathing deeply of Lance's familiar scent. They'd been best friends since high school, though Ashton admitted he didn't always understand the man. He rolled to his back and stared at the textured ceiling.
"Why?" he asked a particularly thick swirl. He remembered the men Lance would suck off behind the bleachers at twenty bucks a pop. Ashton never asked what he did if he climbed into someone's car.
"It's not the money," Lance assured him one day when they lay in the middle of the football field and stared at the sun. "I like sucking cock."
"Jesus, Lance. So do I, but I don't whore myself out."
Lance looked at him, got up and walked away without a word. But Ashton had never forgotten the tears in his best friend's cornflower blue eyes. He never brought the subject up again, but it took months for the hurt to leave Lance's smile whenever they met.
"I'm so sorry, honey," he said now, knowing how important it was to Lance to be accepted, and how the opposite tore his fragile heart to shreds. The shower turned off and Ashton climbed to his feet for his turn. Lance better have saved him some hot water…©DianneHartsock