“This is torture.”
Under the blanket, Casey’s hand crawls up the inside of Chris’ thigh. On the TV screen, Jimmy Carr natters. And on the other sofa, Tom stares at the TV as Barclay dozes beside him, his head tipped back against the sofa.
“We should just tell them!”
“No,” Casey hisses. Chris is so warm under these blankets, under his jeans. “Awkward, like… they’re third and fourth wheels.”
Across the room, Barclay lets out a low, sleepy noise. Or not… sleepy, exactly.
Casey startles, his hand too tight around Chris’ bulge. “Oi! Thomas! What’re you doing under that blanket?!”