Colt pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips swollen, glistening, and aching for more. His thumb traced over Aidan’s flushed cheek, the smirk curling on his lips as he drank in the dazed, breathless expression. "You know," Colt murmured, voice low and decadent, "I’m not completely out of it when I’m frozen."
Aidan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to make sense of the heat coursing through him. "What—what do you mean?"
Colt’s grin widened, mischievous and dangerous, as he let the pause thicken the air. "I feel things," he whispered, the words dripping with unspoken promises. "Especially things like that night in the studio." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Aidan’s ear. "Someone grabbed me—down there. I know it was you."
Aidan’s face burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact. "Yeah," he exhaled, lips trembling. "That was me."
A low chuckle rumbled from Colt’s throat, the vibration teasing against Aidan’s chest. His fingertips moved with purpose now, tracing lazy, tantalizing circles over Aidan’s hip. "And just now, on the platform? Through the jeans... I felt that too." His voice dipped even lower. "It was fucking hot."
Aidan’s breath hitched sharply, his fingers tightening around Colt’s bicep like a lifeline. "But you were supposed to be unconscious," he managed, voice cracking under the weight of desire.
Colt’s eyes softened, though the fire within them burned brighter. "It doesn’t work like that." His lips brushed against Aidan’s neck as he spoke. "Most of the time, it’s like floating in a void. Everything’s numb, quiet. But when someone touches me—when you touch me—it’s like fireworks exploding inside me. I can feel every second of it, like it’s tattooed into my skin."
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Aidan again. His voice was a whisper, but it dripped with intensity. "And when I wake up, it’s like pulling out of the best fucking wet dream imaginable. I don’t want to be awake—I just want to dive back in and let it drown me."
Aidan’s lips parted, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break free. "So... when I touch you, it pulls you back?"
Colt nodded, his gaze flicking to Aidan’s mouth. "Exactly. That’s why you should never stop." His lips brushed Aidan’s, the faintest tease. "Touch me. Keep me burning."
The door creaked open, cutting through the charged air like a blade. Aidan’s head snapped toward the entrance, and his breath stalled as Damian stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the two men sprawled on the floor.
"I see Colt’s giving you the full tour," Damian teased, his voice smooth, with a hint of amusement.
Aidan flushed crimson, the heat rushing up his neck to his ears. He scrambled to sit up, but the weight of embarrassment pinned him just as firmly as Colt had moments ago.
"Colt, darling, let’s give our young student a chance to get on his feet," Damian said, gesturing lightly.
With a grin that promised mischief, Colt shifted his weight and rose slowly, his gaze never straying from Aidan’s face. The intensity of the look left Aidan breathless as he followed suit, pushing himself upright.
Damian’s eyes flicked down for a brief second, noting the unmistakable bulges straining against both their pants. He smirked knowingly. "Everyone okay? Need a moment to... straighten yourselves out?" His tone was playful, but the suggestion in his words made Aidan’s face somehow grow even redder.
"I-I’m fine," Aidan stammered, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he tried to regain composure.
"I apologize for being late," Damian said, stepping further into the room, his gaze shifting between them. "But it looks like you managed to enjoy yourselves regardless."
"Colt taught me a few things," Aidan replied, his lips curving into a shy smile.
"I’m sure he did," Damian murmured as he strolled to Colt’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder. "My Colt is very talented."
Without warning, Damian raised his hand to Colt's neck and pressed firmly. Colt flinched, his muscles tensing in surprise as he turned a quarter-circle toward Damian, eyes wide with brief panic. The reaction was swift but short-lived. Within moments, his body stiffened, his limbs locking into place as his face adopted the familiar glassy, vacant expression—a mask of frozen perfection.
"Isn’t he perfect?" Damian purred, his gaze lingering on the masterpiece he had just immobilized.
Aidan nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Colt’s frozen form—a prince encased in an unyielding trance.
"He looks so happy with you right now," Damian said, a playful edge curling at the corners of his lips as he began reshaping Colt’s rigid body.
With practiced hands, Damian lifted one of Colt’s arms, bending it at the elbow until the bicep bulged in a proud, flexed arc. The muscles under his fingertips felt warm but firm—like working with heated clay.
Aidan watched, mesmerized, as Damian moved with swift precision, molding Colt’s body as if it were an extension of his own artistry.
"We had a moment before you came in," Aidan admitted softly.
"I’m glad to hear that," Damian murmured, guiding Colt’s other arm downward into another flexed pose, the palm open and facing outward, as though offering something unseen. "It’s important to me that he’s happy. And it seems like you make him happy."
Aidan swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "He said he could feel everything. Even when he’s like this."
"Not always everything, and not with everyone," Damian said, his voice soft yet laced with something knowing. "But he definitely felt you that night." With expert fingers, Damian unbuttoned the tight jeans hugging Colt’s hips and smoothly pulled down the zipper. Beneath the denim, Colt was wearing nothing.
In one practiced motion, Damian freed Colt’s massive, rigid length from the confines of the jeans, letting it hang heavily in the charged air, frozen but potent.
"You gave him quite the impressive erection," Damian smirked, his eyes flicking toward Aidan with a teasing gleam."
"Fuck," Aidan whispered, his breath catching as his own erection strained against the confines of his jeans, growing harder with every second of Damian’s teasing display.
"I hope you don’t mind," Damian said, striding over to a nearby drawer. "But I need to prepare him for the next lesson." He retrieved a bottle of rich, golden oil and returned to Colt’s side. "It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful erection," he added with a smirk, twisting the cap and pouring a generous stream of the oil onto Colt’s broad chest.
The thick liquid cascaded over the sculpted ridges of his pectorals, trickling down to his abdomen and pooling at the base of his pelvis. Damian’s hands, skilled and deliberate, glided over Colt’s skin, spreading the oil in smooth, sensuous strokes. Each pass of his palms accentuated the definition of Colt’s muscles, making them gleam under the studio’s soft lighting.
He worked the oil down Colt’s abs, letting it flow into the crevice of his pelvis before coating the length of his massive shaft. The sheen of the oil gave everything a surreal, hypnotic glow, as if Colt were a living sculpture perfected by touch.
Aidan hesitated, his breath shallow as he watched Damian’s hands glide effortlessly over Colt’s body. The sight of the gleaming, oiled muscles made his pulse race, and before he could stop himself, he spoke up softly, "Do you... need help with that?"
Damian paused, his gaze lifting to meet Aidan’s. A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Are you offering, Aidan?"
Aidan swallowed hard, nodding, unsure if he was stepping into something he could handle but too captivated to back away.
"Then come here," Damian murmured, extending the bottle of oil toward him. Their fingers brushed as Aidan accepted it, and a jolt of electricity raced up his arm. "Don’t be shy—start wherever you like."
Aidan poured a small amount of the oil into his palm, the warm liquid pooling against his skin. He stepped closer to Colt’s rigid form, heart pounding as he placed his hands gently on Colt’s chest. His fingers spread the oil across the broad expanse, gliding over the hard ridges of muscle as if he were discovering something sacred.
Damian watched him intently, his voice low and encouraging. "Feel the contours—every inch is part of the art."
Aidan obeyed, his fingers tracing the sharp cut of Colt’s pectorals, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks of his nipples. The sensation of warm, oiled skin beneath his hands made his breath hitch, and he moved lower, smoothing the oil along Colt’s abs with slow, reverent strokes. His fingertips followed the deep grooves of the V-line leading down to the pelvis, lingering just long enough to feel the tension coiled beneath the surface.
Damian joined him, their hands occasionally meeting as they worked the oil over Colt’s thighs and lower abdomen. "You’re doing well," Damian whispered, leaning closer. "See how his body responds, even when it’s frozen?"
Aidan nodded, entranced. His hands trembled slightly as he reached Colt’s pelvis, where Damian’s had already coated the massive length standing rigid and proud. Without thinking, Aidan’s fingers brushed against Damian’s, and they shared a brief, charged glance.
"Go ahead," Damian said, his tone soft but authoritative. "Finish what you started."
Aidan hesitated, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of Damian’s words coiled inside him like a live wire, igniting every nerve. His gaze lowered, tracing the path of the glistening oil as it dripped lazily along Colt’s pelvis and down the rigid, throbbing length of his shaft. The sight made Aidan’s pulse pound violently, his fingers twitching, desperate to make contact.
With a shaky breath, he wrapped his hand around the thick base, the warmth radiating through the slick layer of oil like molten lava. The feeling of it—heavy, pulsing, alive—was intoxicating, a forbidden temptation too strong to resist. His grip tightened instinctively, his thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge where the shaft met the base, savoring the way it felt beneath his touch.
Slowly, reverently, Aidan began to stroke upward, his fingers molding to every ridge and vein as though committing them to memory. The oil made each movement impossibly smooth, and the sensation of gliding over the swollen heat sent a shiver down his spine. His breath came in ragged pants as his thumb grazed the head, teasing the sensitive tip and spreading the glistening slickness further.
His other hand joined, cradling Colt’s shaft as he worked both hands in tandem, alternating between firm squeezes and languid strokes. The oil clung to his skin, making every motion feel more decadent, more sinful. Aidan’s gaze was locked on the way his hands moved, the sight so erotic it left him lightheaded, a fire roaring between his thighs.
Damian’s breath was hot against his ear, his voice a low, velvety hum. "That’s it, Aidan. Feel him. Own him. Let yourself go."
Aidan whimpered softly, his body betraying him as his hips twitched involuntarily, his own arousal straining painfully against his jeans. The slick slide of his hands became more desperate, more eager, as he lost himself in the hypnotic rhythm. His fingers flexed around the girth, feeling the steady pulse beneath the skin, imagining how it would feel against his tongue.
Each stroke became a confession of desire, a silent plea for more. His breath hitched as his fingers curled around the tip, smearing the oil over the sensitive head with torturous precision. He could feel the phantom echo of that sensation on his own body, a mirror of pleasure that made his knees tremble.
Damian’s hand brushed along Aidan’s forearm, guiding his movements subtly but firmly. "Don’t stop," he murmured. "Feel him surrender to your touch. Take him as your own."
Aidan’s fingers tightened, squeezing gently before sliding back down, his hands worshiping every inch of Colt’s massive length. The sound of oil slicking between his fingers and the faint tremor in his breath filled the room, creating a symphony of forbidden pleasure.
When he finally pulled away, his hands trembled, coated in a glistening sheen that shimmered under the dim studio lights. His chest heaved, his breath ragged, but the fire in his core refused to dim. The heat of the moment had left him marked—an insatiable need pulsing through him like a second heartbeat, raw and undeniable.