I narrow my eyes.
Ryker leans forward to reveal the hot water bottle he’s got wedged between his lower back and the sofa.
“I bought you some heat rub.”
“Sweet.” Ryker heaves himself up. “I’ll go put it on now, then I can kick your arse on the X—”
“No,” I say. “We’re going upstairs, the three of us, and Freddie’s going to put on your heat rub.”
And with those parting words, I leave the room knowing they’ll follow. Ryker grins moronically at the thought of a back massage, and Freddie’s wide-eyed and nervous about what to expect, but they’ll come after me, I know they will.
When Ryker steps into the bedroom, he’s already undressing, yanking his T-shirt over his head. He’s wearing loose grey joggers that slip down his legs as soon as he unties the cord at the top. I tut at his absence of underwear, then tut again but louder at his erection.
“Put it away,” I tell him.
Ryker rolls his eyes and steps up to the bed. He crawls onto the mattress before carefully stretching out on his front. Freddie waits in the doorway. He licks his lips, whether with nervousness or anticipation I don’t know, but once he sees Ryker lying flat on the bed, he comes inside.
I slip the tube of heat rub from my trousers, and Freddie holds his hand out to take it, but I lift it out of his reach. “It smells quite strongly of menthol. It’s best you remove your clothing too.”
“Really?” he says while hiking one of his eyebrows.
“Really.”
The cream does have a distinctive smell that would likely scent his clothing, but I’d be lying if I said that was the main reason I wanted Freddie’s clothes off.
“What’s the hold up?” Ryker asks. “My back isn’t going to rub itself.”
Freddie faces away from me to undress. He leaves his boxers on, though, a tight black pair that cup his arse perfectly. I don’t tell him that, though. I don’t tell him I’ve dreamed of having his arse against my crotch. Skin to skin. I hand over the cream,and Freddie gets onto the bed. He hesitates for a moment before straddling Ryker’s thighs.
“Where abouts does it hurt?” I ask.
“Lower back mostly.” Ryker slaps the back of his hand to the offending area before sliding his arm under his chin.
Freddie gets started with the heat rub, and Ryker sighs in bliss. While they warm up, I unbutton my shirt, then take off my trousers. I’m down to my boxers too, and I leave them on reasoning Freddie might find it too distracting to have my hard cock twitching and wagging in the corner of his eye. After all, this isn’t a sexual act. It’s not Freddie’s fault that Ryker and I get overexcited in his presence.
Ryker groans. “That feels really good, babe.”
Freddie’s throat bobs as he swallows, then without any guidance from Ryker or me, his hand roams up Ryker’s back, stroking and caressing. Ryker purrs like a cat, and I can’t stop the small smile that twitches my lips. He deserves to be pampered. He’s been putting on a brave face, but I know his back has been bothering him, twinging when he turns too fast.
It becomes obvious that Freddie’s enjoying touching my brother’s shoulders. They’re broad and muscular, and Freddie’s eyes follow the curves before his hands. He’s hard in his boxers, and he glances my way, catching me in the act of checking him out. His cheeks warm, and he ducks his head to avoid my gaze.
“I like it,” I tell him. “I like that touching my brother turns you on.”
Ryker lifts his head from his arms crossed beneath his chin. “What was that?”
“Freddie’s getting aroused touching you . . .”
“As he should,” Ryker replies. “But what part of me specifically?”
Freddie flicks Ryker’s nape. “The back of your head, it really does it for me.”
The laugh sneaks up on me. It’s small, but still unexpected. It draws Freddie’s attention to me.
“Wait until you see the front,” Ryker murmurs, then he’s turning—rolling, albeit in slow motion—onto his back. I’ve kept my erection covered, but Ryker’s is blatant, smacking against his belly. Freddie freezes with his hands on his thighs. His nails dig into his skin as he takes in Ryker’s erection. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, suddenly unsure what to do, and I inwardly curse my brother for getting too eager, not that I can blame him.
“Your hip,” I say.
A bruise the size and colour of a plum pops from my brother’s tanned skin. Freddie snaps out of his paralysis and traces it with a finger. Ryker winces when he pushes too hard.
