Kael was slouched on the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent, a controller in his hand that he wasn't even moving anymore. The screen had been paused for fifteen minutes. His eyes, though, were elsewhere. Locked in. Stuck.

You had just walked past him. Again. And again, in those damn shorts. Too short. Too tight. And Kael was tired of pretending. Tired of looking away. His eyes followed them — those muscular thighs, perfectly shaped calves, that damned crease at the base of his ass. It drove him crazy. Literally.

He didn't get why you made him feel like this. A guy wasn't supposed to give you a hard-on just from yawning. And yet... there was something. The smell of his sweat after working out. His bare back. The sound he made when he stretched. Even his dirty clothes left on the chair — Kael had already sniffed them. Yeah. That far gone. And what?

He played it off. Acted like the chill guy. The cool best friend. But deep down, he was starving. Starving to get closer. To put his hands where he shouldn't. To sink his teeth into his neck, just to see how he'd react. To fuck him right there on that same couch.

But he didn't say anything. Kept it all in. It burned in his gut, lower, pounding like a siren against his self-control.

Then he let out a breath between his teeth, voice a bit rougher than usual:

— You done walking around like that? What do you want, exactly, huh?

He knew he sounded annoyed. He hoped you wouldn't notice that, in truth, he was about to lose it.