Page 11 of Men in Shorts

“I told him to fuck right off.” He shot Duncan a guilty look. “It was prickish of me, I know.”

“Justifiable prickishness. Besides, you were ill.”

“That’s no excuse. I should’ve helped him. His university’s not as gay-friendly as ours.” Brodie steadied his end of Duncan’s tablet as he stretched his legs, then pulled his knees up again. “Let’s finish the show.”

They watched the rest of the episode without interruption, but Duncan struggled to focus on the story after these revelations. He’d known Brodie came from a small village, but never realized he’d been completely in the closet before coming to Glasgow Uni. Despite his occasional awkwardness, Brodie seemed pure comfortable in his own skin. Perhaps his self-possession was a carefully constructed facade.

As the closing credits flashed on the screen, Brodie said, “You were right. It’s not rubbish.”

“Is it not-rubbish enough to watch another episode?”

“Och, aye.”

Duncan laughed. “It’s pure addictive, right? Admit it.”

“They say admitting you’ve a problem is the first step to recovery, and I don’t want to recover.” Brodie slid down and pulled the sheet up over his nose like a mischievous wee lad. “What do you miss most about America?”

“Besides the suntanned boys? Iced tea.”

Brodie made a gagging noise.

“That’s what I thought too.” Duncan brought up the next episode on his tablet. “But then one day last summer, it was pure meltin’ outside, and there was no sort of ginger—no Coke or anything—in my aunt’s fridge. Nothing but ‘sun tea,’ she called it. You put a bunch of tea bags in a pitcher, set it outside in the sun, and let the heat brew it. Then you add ice and sugar and lemon.”

“Sounds gads.”

“It wasn’t. It was delicious.” His mouth watered at the memory of the amber liquid glistening in the sun. “The key is to see it as a soft drink, not as tea.”

“But it is tea. Or it was, before it got violated by ice.”

“Shut up and watch the show.”

Problem was, now that Brodie had shifted down, their knees no longer aligned. Duncan flipped the back of the tablet’s case to make a stand, but couldn’t find a level place to set it, as the duvet made Brodie’s torso higher than his.

Finally Brodie sighed and said, “Get under the covers.”

Duncan’s mouth went suddenly dry, and his cock suddenly hard. “You sure?”

“Just don’t try anything, as I’m too weak to fend you off.”

Duncan didn’t meet Brodie’s eyes as he lifted the covers and reclined beside him. The sudden warmth made him shiver. Every hair on his arms and legs seemed to stand up straight, yearning to brush against its counterpart on Brodie’s body.

They watched the second episode with the tablet on its stand, one end on each of their stomachs. It rose and fell with their synchronized breaths.

Earlier, atop the covers, Duncan had been at war with himself and his desire to get closer. But now that they lay shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, separated by nothing but clothes, the war within him ended. With each inhale, he gave himself over to this intoxicating nearness.

By the end of the episode, Brodie was clearly fading. “Sleep now,” he murmured at the closing credits, his long lashes fluttering shut.

“I’m away to football practice session anyhow.” Duncan tapped his tablet’s camera app. “First let me take a selfie.”

“Of us in bed? Are you daft? What’ll people say?”

“It’s just for us. Smile now!”

“I’m not?—”

Click!

Duncan brought up the photo, of Brodie protesting and himself wearing a goofy grin. “Och, I look a maniac. Let’s take another, and this time, pretend you don’t hate me.”

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