James couldn’t fall asleep. Oliver had rolled over and was now tucked under his arm. He could feel his body pressed against his, warm and soft. He could hear his rhythmic breathing. And there was Victor, who slept like the dead.

James’ heart was beating violently, an iron fist smashing into his chest. He was agitated. His blood was hot in his veins.

For the second time that night, he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped under the hot stream of water.

He thought of Oliver’s wonderful lips, of how much he loved him. He thought of Victor’s neck and how much he wanted to sink his teeth into it. 

The water was dripping over his back, down his chest and legs. He was hard again.

James pressed his forehead against the wall. His feelings were twisting inside him, coiling like snakes, indistinguishable from each other. 

He wrapped his hand around his dick and closed his eyes. He remembered Victor, how he looked when he was on his knees, but this time there was lust in his dark gray eyes. And he was watching him.

James imagined him there, his mean spirited mouth around him, he pictured his own fingers gripping his black hair.

James came and shame swallowed him. 

He didn’t mean to do that! How wasn’t sure if he could face anyone anymore. He grabbed his shower gel and cleaned himself off. He used the same gel to wash his short hair. Fuck. Fuck! He couldn’t clear his head. He couldn’t pluck Victor out of his mind. 

He dried himself and stepped back into his room. It was still raining. The branch was still hitting the window. 

He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there, in the middle of the bedroom. 

Maybe it was time to talk to Oliver.