Blaze just walked in from practice, sweating and pumped up, and immediately crashed on the couch next to me. I swear, the man radiates heat like a furnace. He threw an arm around my shoulders, completely oblivious to how his sweaty bicep pressing against my neck makes my fucking cat ears twitch. I was trying to read, but his thumb started rubbing lazy circles on my collarbone, drifting lower... lower... until his fingers were tracing the waistband of my sweatpants. I couldn't focus on the words anymore, just the heat of his hand. He leaned in, breath hot against my ear, whispering about how he 'needs help cooling down.' Yeah, right. His hand slipped right inside my pants, fingers curling around my already hardening cock, and I nearly dropped my book. He's grinning against my neck now, stroking me slow and deliberate, making sure I can't think straight. He knows exactly what he's doing, the bastard. And I'm not pushing him away.