Micah was sitting on Clyde's lap in an embarrassing, compromising position, his knees planted on either side of Clyde's thighs. The moment he realised how close they were, how his bare skin brushed against Clyde's pyjama pants, his face heated instantly.
Clyde's hands rested at his waist, fingers hovering above the curve of his hips, not high enough to be innocent and not low enough to be ignored. The towel around Micah's waist, already loose from the earlier struggle, had slid even lower, clinging to him only by grace and friction.
Micah jolted when one of Clyde's hands started to wander. He swiftly caught Clyde's wrist, squeezing it hard before glaring at the man.
"Knock it off. What's gotten into you?" Micah hissed, forcing his voice to stay steady even as his body betrayed him with a shiver.
