Play On: A Glasgow Lads Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

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.”
    Click!
    The new picture stopped Duncan’s breath. In it, he was smiling at the camera while Brodie regarded him with a gaze of spontaneous tenderness, a gaze that said How could you think I hate you?
    “Delete it,” Brodie said. “I look stupid.”
    “No, you look—” So fucking kissable. “You look fine.”
    “My selfies are shite. Please delete it.”
    It was the last thing in the world Duncan wanted to do (or maybe the second-to-last thing). “Only if you promise to let me take another.”
    “Fine.”
    Duncan deleted the second photo, then took a third. They both looked half decent in this picture, but the guardedness had returned to Brodie’s eyes.
    After giving Duncan a quick nod of approval, he turned away to lie on his side. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. It was very kind.”
    His tone was formal, almost cold, but beneath it lay a note of vulnerability that twisted Duncan’s heart.
    “Nae bother.” Duncan reluctantly slid out of bed. He held onto his tablet with both hands, to keep from reaching out and touching Brodie’s shoulder or cheek. “After practice I’ll probably meet our study group at the library, but I’ll pop in on you later, see if you need anything.”
    Brodie uttered a faint, affirmative noise. Duncan gathered his things and left the room, before he could do something colossally, irrevocably stupid.
    = = =
    The moment the door shut, Brodie turned over in bed. He wasn’t sleepy at all—quite the opposite, in fact. Lying beside Duncan for two hours had given him a pounding pulse, tingling skin, and aching balls.
    Pressing his face to the spare pillow, Brodie caught the faintest whiff of Duncan’s sweat. He sighed, remembering how it had tasted that night as he’d kissed his way down Duncan’s throat to his broad, muscular chest. How those hands had tightened in his hair as he’d tugged Duncan’s nipple, first with lips, then with teeth. It had all seemed so perfect until—
    No, he wouldn’t think of how it had ended. Not now, when he needed relief. Instead, he’d think of how it could have ended.
    Brodie began to stroke himself—tentatively at first, through the soft cotton of his pajama trousers, the way Duncan would if he were lying here. He’d cup Brodie’s shaft with his strong, wide