Brandt pulls off my dick with a quiet pop and presses his face to my thigh, grinning like a sinner. “Occupied,” he calls sweetly.
I clamp a hand over my mouth so I don’t die laughing.
After a long pause, the person outside moves on. Brandt leans in again, mouth warm and wicked. When I finally finish—breathless, overstimulated, about to slide down the damn wall—he stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his glove, and zips me back up like a gentleman.
“You’re unbelievable” I tell him.
“You’re welcome.”
We walk out of the bathroom like nothing happened. Well—he walks. I limp just slightly, one leg made of metal, the other jelly.
Totally worth it.
Hot Tub Debrief
By the time we make it back to the cabin, I can’t feel my spine.
The sky’s already turning that weird electric blue that says it’ll be dark in twenty minutes, and all I want is a protein bar, a nap, and the immediate amputation of my remaining leg.
Instead, I get roped into the hot tub.
Brandt’s already in it, steam curling up around his neck, cheeks pink from cold and chlorine. He looks up at me like I’m late to the best part of the night. Which, considering how the afternoon ended, might be true.
I slide in with a grunt, prosthetic removed and tossed somewhere dry, my body aching like I went ten rounds with God. “If I die in here, you’re not allowed to put that on my tombstone.”
Brandt tilts his head. “What?”
‘Death by recreational sports and oral overachievement.’
He snorts. “You’re not dying.”
“Feels like it.”
He floats closer. Bare shoulders. Wet hair. That dumb, happy grin like he’s proud of me. Goddamn I lucked out.
“You really did great today, West.”
I wave him off, half-hearted. “I skied a glorified sidewalk with five-year-olds on either side of me. One of them told me I looked like a broken Transformer.”
“You stayed upright,” he says. “You didn’t bail. You got back on your feet every time. You pushed through all the bullshit your brain throws at you. That’s not nothing.”
I close my eyes and lean back, water lapping at my chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever ski again. Not really.”
“I know.”
“It’s like… I stopped letting myself picture things that used to feel easy. Like skiing. Running. Dancing.”
Brandt hums quietly. “You danced at the Halloween party.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice soft. “Only because you made me.”
“No. You danced because you wanted to, even if you didn’t believe it yet.”
I hate how he says shit like that. Like he sees me. Like he’s been collecting the pieces I leave behind and holding onto them until I’m ready to take them back.
Steam curls around us. I sink lower, letting the heat numb my leg and everything else.
“Brandt?”
