The dawn light spread its tendrils through the cracks in the blinds like agents of the sun sent to personally harass Oscar.

Normally he didn’t mind mornings. He’d even call himself a morning person, he was so accustomed to early rises for rehearsals and travel. But in the last week, his lazy side seemed to have come out.

Stress about the future aside, it was nice to have some time off, even if it was enforced by his own body. He didn’t have to get up early and go anywhere, or do much of anything. He kept the house tidy around him, but that was about it. Roman wouldn’t let him do much of anything, like a mother hen.

Which brought him to the other reason he was so tired—despite going to bed at a reasonable hour, the same time as Roman, he’d stayed awake thinking about his odd behavior.

Maybe it was only one night, the high of a party with coworkers and seeing his best friend, but Roman had turned down a handjob not once, but twice. Oscar wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

It wasn’t that he felt ugly or scorned—he knew he was hot. Enough guys had told him as much. But something else nagged him, and he couldn’t put his thumb on it. He’d given up trying in the small hours of the morning, when his eyes finally grew heavy and tired of staring at the crisp white ceiling.

When he heard Roman cooking breakfast—he seemed to make toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs every morning—Oscar finally got up, too. By the time he’d showered, put his brace on again, and pulled on clothes, then hobbled to the dining room table, breakfast was just about ready.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Roman timed the breakfast based on the sounds of him turning off the shower, because those scrambled eggs weren’t dried out. They were perfectly fluffy.

“Morning!” Roman greeted from the stove and gave him a cheery smile. “Sleep well?”

“Not as well as I would with you in my bed,” Oscar retorted, going for the direct approach. He winked. “You?”

Roman laughed. “Probably the same. But I’d better not get used to anything I’d miss. I’m gonna be away for five more days in your time zone.”

Oscar was still working on parsing that. Something he would miss? Me? “I… Oh. Yeah, right. Hong Kong again?”

“Yep. A long, boring flight, and then a couple long, boring days in Hong Kong before I head back.” Roman sighed at his breakfast. “I used to be glad they put us up in a hotel with good Western breakfasts, but now I don’t mind rice for breakfast.”

“Rice for breakfast?” Oscar’s training regimen was too strict to allow much rice or carbs at all, except as part of a post-workout recovery meal, so he hadn’t eaten the local cuisine since his first international tour.

Roman laughed. “Everyone says that. It’s not that bad! It fills you up. Cereal is weird in other countries.”

“Cereal is weird in all countries.” Oscar nodded at the breakfast. “My trainers would approve of that.”

“So would mine,” Roman grinned and patted his stomach.

That brought Oscar to something he was curious about. “So, you’re kind of… ripped.” This was already a little flirtier than the average breakfast conversation. “Do you just spend all your days off in the gym?”

“Actually, no,” Roman laughed. “But at least an hour a day, usually. I’ve explored all the cities I can now. Meeting people in the gym is a good way to find new outdoor spots—running partners, the like—and sometimes drinking buddies who don’t mind if you don’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh!” It was like a lightbulb for Oscar, who usually wasn’t allowed alcohol, either. It screwed with his body chemistry too much, and he needed every advantage in muscle recovery to keep from injury.

Not that it did much good, he groused. Fucking kneecap. Not even in a fucking show. On the street, like a civilian.

“Yeah,” Roman chuckled. “There’s a life hack for you.”

Oscar cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t mind me… staying here while you’re gone? I can always figure out—”

“Jesus, stop trying to make me kick you out,” Roman cut him off with a good-natured laugh. “I know where to find your best friend anyway and shake him down if you make off with the TV. Not that it won’t be obvious to the neighbors,” he pointed with his fork at Oscar’s leg. “You won’t make off with anything quickly.”

Nobody had made that kind of joke since the injury, so Oscar was torn between horror and amusement, but laughter won. It was kind of… nice… not to be handled like fragile glass. “You asshole.”

Roman swallowed his sausage and beamed. “Glad to help.”

“And, uh… if anyone asks…”

“You’re a friend staying here. Tell ’em the truth,” Roman said, cheerful as ever, and ignoring his subtler hint.

“Right. A friend.”

Roman winked. “Who’s had benefits, but most people don’t need to know that.”

So Roman was definitely not pushing for a relationship. Given what he knew about him—that he jumped into relationships both feet first—Oscar was weirdly almost offended by it, but tried not to be.

Maybe he saw him as more than fucking material. That would be nice. Someone who fucked him and liked him. His mind went to Jef before he could stop it.

Oscar just nodded back at Roman. “Yeah, let’s keep that between us.”

There was nothing platonic in the way Roman winked back, sending one more mixed signal into the whole mess he’d presented Oscar with in the last day. “Our dirty little secret.”

* * *

It wasn’t fair that Roman got to say something like that, then jet off to China or Japan or wherever and forget about it. That left Oscar in a place that looked like Roman, smelled like him, was filled with reminders of him.

It was the next day, so by now, the flight had almost landed. Oscar had barely slept again last night, his own attempt at cooking breakfast falling flat compared to yesterday’s.

Slowly but surely, the boredom was creeping in. He should have expected it. He didn’t know a single athlete who was happy sitting on his ass instead of practicing. A week off was a rare luxury, but as it approached two, and his knee still ached every time he put weight on it, his frustration grew.

Oscar reminded himself for the hundredth time in twenty-four hours that it was probably affecting how he saw this whole thing with Roman.

They’d entered it explicitly agreeing that it was a fling, something to hide from their friends, a friends-with-benefits kind of deal. So there was absolutely no point in moping about that now.

Not that I’m moping. He wasn’t falling for the guy or anything—they hardly knew each other, still.

With that decided, Oscar figured he’d try his luck. He opened up his phone, sending Roman another suggestive photo of himself in his underwear. He had that sexual flush in his face and half-lidded eyes.

He added the caption, Look whose bed you could be in. Shame for you. ;)

It took an hour or so before he got an answer, but it was worth the wait—what must have been an older picture of Roman in return, his hands barely covering his manhood as he lay on his back on the bed, knees up.

The caption read: I feel sorry for you missing out on this, too. ;)

Oscar licked his lips, then responded, Missing out on what? I can’t see the goods…

Roman sent back a quick LOL, and then, Wait an hour.

An hour? With my cock this hard? Oscar wasn’t actually hard yet, but he was starting to get turned on at the conversation—especially when he thumbed back to the photo.

Half an hour.

Deal.

Twenty-nine minutes after the message, there was another photo—Roman on his back on the bed, looking tussled and tired but with a naughty gleam in his eye, his hand wrapped around his hard cock.

“Whew,” Oscar breathed out, squirming off the couch and making for his bedroom. He was going to need some serious alone time with that photo.

When his reaction covered the shower wall, he sent back a photo of it, and he got a photo just as dirty in return.

So nothing much has changed after all. Oscar smiled with relief as he looked back through the day’s photos and added them to his jerk-off album.

Their relationship could be light, flirty, sexy, fun, and above all, unnamed. This flirtation and seduction didn’t have to affect their living situation.

To be honest, the idea of a sneaky booty call relationship behind their friends’ backs made him a little hot. Secretive, but there in plain sight, too.

Besides, Roman was probably right to shut down his not-quite-asked questions about relationships. With this kind of schedule, half of their relationship—if they even tried one—would be Skype calls and photos.

Surely that couldn’t work out long-term.