Kyle sat on his new couch, one leg curled up on the cushion in front of him, trying desperately to focus on the expense reports in his lap and not the memory of Wes’ hard body pressing against his.

He wasn’t an accountant. He’d enjoyed math and science in school, but he didn’t find numbers particularly thrilling. They were just straightforward; easy to understand. Governed by simple rules. Unlike his attraction to a certain doctor.

He shifted again, letting out a huff. So far he’d been looking at the same sheet for… almost a half hour, according to the clock on the DVR. That wasn’t going to cut it. Not when they needed to find an answer to this mess as quickly as possible. The MVA—motor vehicle accident—that came in had tied both of them up for a while, and things stayed hectic all through Kyle’s shift, at least. He only saw glimpses of Wes, and the man looked harried and preoccupied as he hurried off from patient to patient.

He’d considered looking for Wes after his shift ended—or rather, after he left the hospital, since he didn’t get around to doing that until two hours later—but that seemed like a terrible idea. Being alone with him at work was bad enough. Wes might suggest they go back to his apartment or to Kyle’s house to look at the numbers, and he might agree to it.

Because some devilish part of him wanted to be caught out. He wanted to give Wes an excuse to act on the attraction that burned between them.

Letting out an annoyed groan, Kyle shifted again and held the papers up to the lamp. They were easy enough to read in a more relaxed position, but he hoped staring at the words and numbers would keep his thoughts from straying to Wes.

And for a little while, it worked. He was able to mark some areas where the hospital might be able to cut back. The cafeteria got a lot of its produce from a regional distributor. If they started buying from the local farms—the Meile farms, if he remembered right—they could get fresher food at a better price. The mark-up on meals seemed a little low, too. There was no way the staff and community wouldn’t agree to paying a little bit more for their food if it meant the doors stayed open. And then there were maintenance and utility costs for rooms that were barely used, product deals that could be renegotiated, insurance rates that needed to be looked at by a professional…

It was progress, and Kyle was pleased with himself as he put together a list of things to speak with Wes about. The moment he thought of just how and where they’d do that, though, his mind fixated full force on that on-call room again.

On-call rooms weren’t a necessary expenditure, right? They could have that thing repurposed or demolished tomorrow and everything would be fine. The doctors could nap in the break room, where it was much more likely for someone to come strolling in and interrupt things that definitely weren’t napping.

Yes, that sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution to his inability to control himself around Wes Monroe. So reasonable that he spent another half hour thinking about sliding his hands under Wes’ coat in the break room; undoing the man’s slacks just enough to…

“Fuck,” Kyle growled. “What is wrong with you?”

This seemed worse than run of the mill horniness. That he could usually alleviate by beating off. But then… he hadn’t exactly tried to do that in this case, had he? He’d never jacked off to thoughts of another man before, and somehow it didn’t cross his mind that doing so might give him enough blood flow back to his brain and away from his needy cock.

He’d already made peace with the attraction. This was just the next step. Like when he’d first discovered what to do with all those pent-up hormones in junior high. He’d made his teenage years a lot easier on himself by giving his right hand a thorough workout, and he was confident release would be just what he needed again.

So he set the papers well away from himself and went to fetch a hand towel and some lube from his bedroom. Normally he would have grabbed his tablet, too, but some stubborn part of him wanted to see just what he could create in his mind, without the conscious aid of porn.

It wasn’t like he lacked fantasies, after all. The same one kept playing through his mind, over and over.

Getting comfortable on the couch, Kyle set the lube and towel beside him and just focused on the easier, less messy stimulation first. He relaxed his body, stretching out so his ankles were hanging over the opposite arm of the couch, his hand resting on his stomach before he slowly moved it down.

He thought of Wes doing the same, the way he had in the on-call room. Large, warm hands moving over his body, lighting up every nerve ending even through his scrubs. The first time, he’d just gripped Kyle’s collar, but it was easy for his imagination to alter that path. He pictured the other man’s hand moving down to his hip, then his thigh. He lingered there for a moment before moving inward, and Kyle squeezed his cock through his sweatpants, a soft moan falling from his lips.

He was already half hard, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. Needing that to change, Kyle gave himself another squeeze, then moved to cup his balls. Wes seemed like the kind of man who knew exactly what he was doing, and there was no doubt in Kyle’s mind that the other man would attend to those oft-neglected areas.

He rubbed himself through his pants, thinking of Wes doing the same. Neither of them would be content with that for long, he thought. They only had so much time in that on-call room before someone came across them. So just as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, he imagined Wes doing the same to his scrubs.

From there, it was easy to undo the snap on his boxers and slip his hand through the silky cloth. It was almost shockingly cool against the searing hot flesh that pulsed in his hand, his fingers closing around his dick. Getting a firm grip, he started slowly as he remembered that first night and Wes’ hand on him. That had been through his underwear, but it was enough to let him know what kind of grip the man would have. Firm. Confident. He’d move with sure strokes, tugging Kyle’s dick like it was his own.

Letting his thighs fall further apart, Kyle reached for the dispenser of lube and squeezed some into his palm. The slick liquid joined the precum that beaded at his slit, and he used both to coat his length until it glistened and his hand glided easily over his flesh.

From there, all bets were off.

As he stroked himself, Kyle didn’t just think of Wes’ hand working him. He thought of the man’s mouth with those soft lips and that expert tongue pressing to every sensitive spot Kyle had ever found on his own—and maybe even some he hadn’t. He thought of Wes on his knees, still looking confident and completely in control as he took Kyle’s cock to the root, not stopping until his lips touched the man’s pelvis.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, his hand working faster over his aching dick.

That was when the fantasy changed. This time, it wasn’t Wes on his knees—it was Kyle. He was braced before Wes’ slim hips, his nails raking over the V that cut a perfect path down to the man’s cock.

Kyle had never handled another man before, but it was easy to imagine. He’d felt Wes’ erection. The doctor seemed a bit bigger than him; thicker. With his eyes closed, he could imagine it easily. His fingers eased their choke hold on his own dick and he stroked in a slow, deliberate pattern, imagining himself looking up into those steel grey eyes.

And while he’d definitely never sucked a man off before, it wasn’t long before he was lowering his head in his fantasy and taking the crown of Wes’ cock between his lips. He imagined the taste of salt and sweat, and the pulsing warmth against his mouth.

As understanding as Wes had been, Kyle wasn’t sure he wanted an understanding partner in this fantasy. He imagined the man’s long fingers gripping his hair so close to the scalp that it hurt, then ramming his cock past Kyle’s barely-parted lips. Shoving it in as Kyle played at resistance—very much wanting to be handled that way, but acting like the defiant boy he knew Wes responded to.

His own actions became more frantic as he thought of being used—of Wes thrusting hard and deep into his mouth, over and over again. He pumped his leaking cock furiously, his hand moving down to pay much-needed attention to his aching balls. He lifted his ass off the couch to better accommodate the cupping and stroking and tugging, and another image suddenly surged into his conscious mind:

Wes bending him over that table they’d been working at and fucking him so hard the damn thing collapsed under them.

Kyle felt his balls tighten, his release so close. He bit down on his lip, squeezing the base of his cock to try and delay the inevitable. He wasn’t ready yet. There was something else he wanted to experience before he came.

Grabbing the lube with his free hand, Kyle fumbled with it, squirting some out and using it to coat one finger. He lifted up even more, draping his legs over the back of the couch, and ran that slick finger along the rim of his asshole, shuddering instantly from the explosion of sensation that followed.

He’d always wanted to try this; to see what it felt like. None of his partners had ever been adventurous enough. With some, he hadn’t even felt comfortable bringing it up, and he’d never taken the leap on his own.

Now, though, as he imagined another man pushing his cock past that tight ring of muscle, stretching his inexperienced hole open, it was all too easy for him to slip a finger inside himself. And when that found barely any resistance, a second one.

He pumped at first, moving his fingers in and out, imagining Wes fucking him. And then the pad of his finger touched something inside of him that made him gasp, all the breath suddenly stolen from his lungs.

The hand on his cock stilled as he focused all his energy on that sensation. He pressed against the spongy tissue again, then started stroking it, taking full advantage of the pleasure that arced through him as he made himself more familiar with his own body.

It only took a short amount of stroking before his balls suddenly tightened. He tried to delay the orgasm again, but it overpowered him, the force of it making him press hard against the couch as he rode out the blinding wave of pleasure.

And all the while he imagined Wes on top of him, holding his thighs, pounding into him with expert control. His body clenched around his own fingers, and as he shook and trembled with the strength of his orgasm, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

Getting off to the thought of Wes Monroe didn’t remotely diminish his desire for the real thing. If anything, he wanted it more now, and he knew the next time they were alone together in that on-call room, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.