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Shudders wracked him, followed by a short, hoarse cough as he leaned more heavily against the wall, recovering.
Shit.
He didn’t know what to do with the fact that, aggravating as he could be, Thoreau was now a part of his Fiona fantasies. Most of them, anyway. And they were getting more detailed by the day.
Maybe it was the close proximity combined with three large helpings of sexual frustration. They were all feeling it. But that didn’t explain Wyatt’s reactions. Not entirely.
He was still feeling the effects of his climax when he heard the door to the bathroom open. “What the hell?”
“Are you done whacking it or what, Finn? I’ve been waiting out there a while now, and either your dick is really into foreplay or your meds are having unfortunate side effects.”
Had Thoreau just broken in to the bathroom? “I thought I locked that door.”
A few seconds later he heard the toilet flush and rolled his eyes.
“You did,” Thoreau assured him. “But Fiona’s at the pub until happy hour is over, and we need to talk. I got impatient, and I grew up with secretive sisters. I eat locked doors for breakfast.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my dick.” Wyatt had his arms crossed defiantly, a waste since Thoreau couldn’t see through the patterned curtain concealing him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“So you’re good then?” He heard the water running in the sink. “You got your permission slip from the doctor now? Everything in working order?”
Wyatt frowned suspiciously. “Why do I feel like that question is a trap?”
Thoreau chuckled. “That makes sense. You think if you say yes, I’ll make you stay in the other apartment instead of on my couch. That is, if I don’t kick you out and send you back to the Finns because you’re a pain in the ass.”
Exactly. That was exactly what he was thinking. It threw him off that Thoreau knew it. “She says I’m doing better, okay? Any other questions?”
The doctor still advised some caution, but when he’d specifically asked, she’d given the okay for exercise that included sexual activity. “Just no marathons yet,” she’d joked with another glance at his X-rays. “And I mean that in every way you’re imagining.”
He wondered if that included jerk off sessions. In the last week he’d come close to beating the record he’d set when he was fourteen.
Beating. Ha.
You’re still fourteen.
Maybe. But he was big for his age.
“Good. That’s good,” Thoreau said from the other side of the curtain. “That means we can finally start phase two of my brilliant plan.”
Wyatt snorted, about to toss back a sarcastic zinger about mad beer scientists, when his slick shoulder slid along the tile and he almost landed on his ass. “Shit.”
The curtain was pushed to the side and Thoreau was there, studying him with a worried frown and a towel in his hand. “You alright? You’ve been in that steam for a while and you—are you dizzy? You look dizzy.”
“What do you think we need to talk about while I’m in the middle of a shower?” he demanded. “And how can we be in phase two of a plan I know nothing about?”
Ignoring him, Thoreau manhandled him out of the shower, set him down on the lid of the toilet and handed him his towel. Wyatt told himself he was too confused by the man’s actions to give him the punch he so richly deserved, but the truth was, he did feel dizzy.
Damn it, he hated this. He’d never been sick or injured enough to have anyone hovering over him, to have his family stopping by to visit him voluntarily. To have someone he used to consider his sexual rival sneaking him beers and keeping an eye on his company in case they tired him out. Helping him out of the damn shower.
He didn’t like feeling weak.
Wyatt forced himself to think of Noah. Recovering from this smoker’s cough on crack had been a cakewalk compared to what his brother was going through. All that had really changed with Wyatt was his voice. But Noah?
He was healing fast, they said. He was young and strong and in great shape. Lucky, they said.
Noah’s ego wasn’t as well developed as Wyatt’s, but it still existed. When he’d seen him a few days ago, he’d realized what his brother already seemed to know. That though the surgeries they’d already begun could repair most of the damage to his face, he would never look exactly the same. And his shoulder might have been too badly damaged for him to do more than desk work at the station. Though it was way too soon to make assumptions about that.
Wyatt could tell him no one cared how he looked or what he did for a living, but he knew Noah did. He wished that asshole would stop giving him the silent treatment so they could talk about it.
