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Behind Closed Doors

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Geoff is wide awake. After a long day of filming, signings and general tomfoolery with his eight greatest mistakes, he can feel exhaustion curling around his bones.

(He brushes away the memories of Ray with delicate mental fingertips, wishing the loss felt less like an empty hole in his chest.)

It should be easy to sleep. He’s even got an entire bed to himself, rather than sharing with Gus or Burnie. No reading Grif and Simmons erotic fan fiction or needing to smother a snoring coworker slash best friend. As roommates go, letting Michael have the other bed was a perfect choice. But it’s late, and there are noises coming from the bathroom.

“Oh, fuck me.”

There’s no mistaking the desire in Michael’s voice, even though it’s clear he’s trying to be quiet. But hotel room walls are thin as dicks, and it’s one in the morning, so of course Geoff would be able to hear Michael jerking off.

It’s difficult not to imagine.

The shower is silent, so there’s no way Michael is underneath the spray, steam weighing down his curls, sticking them to his forehead where it lays against his forearm. Water sluices against his skin, sliding down his pale torso as he lets out lazy sighs of pleasure.

Does he tease himself? Geoff wonders.

He could be perched on the edge of the tub, struggling to keep his balance as he arches his back, curling his toes into the cheap bathmat with each delicious stroke.

“Oh, god yes.”

This one, louder than the first, only heightens the tension growing in Geoff’s groin.

He could be standing, clutching he counter with his left hand, knuckles white, boxers shoved down just enough to free his cock. Brows knit as he chases his orgasm, lips between his teeth to hold back his high-pitched whines. Focused on coming as quickly as possible, hand covered in just enough cheap hotel lotion to eliminate friction.

It could be any of these scenarios, really, as the blood rushing between Geoff’s ears makes it difficult to focus on anything but the sound of Michael’s voice from behind the thin bathroom walls.

Geoff can’t be blamed for his half-hard erection, but he keeps his hands over the covers. Whatever guilty thrill he feels, he’s still a fucking adult. And Michael’s boss. He knows for a fact that no attraction is worth losing an employee. Or a friend.

(He ignores the sweet, tempting voice in his head, the one that says it’s okay to start drinking at ten in the morning, or tell a general that you’ve been doing nothing but watching movies instead of doing your damn job.)

(He also ignores a deeper feeling in his chest, curling between his ribs, constricting his breathing at the thought of losing someone else, of losing a chance he’s not sure even exists.)

So he stays still, taking deep, measured breaths as a chorus of muttered curses and smothered moans reach him. And it’s fine, really, until:

“Geoff, please.”

It’s not moaning anymore—Michael’s voice is pleading, breaking under the weight of his outright need for release. Geoff’s hands are under the covers almost immediately, his cock hard and smooth against his palm.

He can see himself in the bathroom now, flashes of each scenario projected large in his mind.

Michael in the shower, but Geoff’s between his knees, looking up through wet lashes as Michael’s broad back keeps the worst of the water away. He’s got Michael’s cock down his throat, tattooed hands stark against Michael’s hips. Geoff keeps Michael’s body moving in a slow rhythm, sliding between his lips as saliva drips down his chin.

Michael captive on the tub’s edge, his abs straining to keep himself upright as Geoff slides three rough fingers inside him, pressing mercilessly against his prostate. Geoff’s other hand tangles in the curls at the base of Michael’s neck, reaching up to kiss him, biting at his lips, swallowing his moans as he trembles against the porcelain.

Michael unaware as Geoff slides in behind him where he’s bent over the sink, hard cock flush against his ass as he covers Michael’s hand with his own. Michael’s head tips back, his unoccupied hand stretching up to grasp the back of Geoff’s neck. His nails dig into Geoff’s neck as their hands stroke his cock together, pressure tight and almost too rough. But Michael moans louder as Geoff slides his lips against his ear, letting loose every filthy fantasy, all the things he’d do just to get Michael off.

And Geoff’s so close now, drawing his thumb over the head of his cock on each upstroke, desperate to come before Michael does.

As Michael whines his name over and over, Geoff suddenly wonders what Michael’s thinking of, what fantasies play out in his mind as he fucks himself in the bathroom. That’s what tips him over the edge, one hand pressed hard against his mouth to stifle his own thick moans.

He lunges for the tissue box on his nightstand, trying his best to clean himself while listening to Michael come, calling his name one last time.

Geoff’s shoved the used tissues into a nightstand drawer when Michael’s panting has finally eased into a natural rhythm. He hears the sink running as he curls into what he hopes approximates a natural sleep pose and closes his eyes.

The door opens with a small creak, a sliver of light across Geoff’s face tinting the inside of his eyelids red. Geoff struggles to hold his position, wondering if Michael’s scrutinizing him, looking for any sign that his boss might have heard. Eventually, the light clicks off and Michael pads across the room.

As Michael crawls into his own bed, Geoff knows he should be feeling something, anything, other than lassitude after this strange interlude, but he can’t help but give in to his exhaustion.

Before sleep takes him, he wonders what would have happened if he’d opened the bathroom door, if he’d asked Michael to join in.