Trey becomes aware of Jesse’s presence a second after the door opens, and he freezes, hand gripping his c**k. He should say something, swear at Jesse, tell him to get the hell out, anything. He’s in his own room; he should be able to do whatever he wants without having his privacy invaded. But Jesse is here. Trey can’t think, can’t breathe a word or grab something to cover himself, and Jesse is staring, mouth open, his eyes going from Trey to the picture lying in front of him on the bed.
Trey figures Jesse will back up fast and leave as soon as he realizes what he’s interrupted, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jesse steps inside the room and closes the door behind him.
“Wha—” Trey can hardly get the word out.
Jesse approaches him, looking resigned but determined. He takes the picture—a printou
