Dylan groaned for the fourth time in the hour, squirming on the couch next to me as he tried to continue playing the video game. It was one of the more popular first-person shooters that I still hadn't bothered to learn the name of, despite me kicking his ass in every round. I killed his guy again, and, once again, his groan wasn't of loss.
I threw down my controller and looked at him. "Okay, what is it?"
"What?"
"Why do you keep groaning like that?"
"Well, it's just, my..." Dylan's eyes flicked over to me and he shook his head gently. "It's nothing."
"No, tell me. Are you hurting?" My voice had dropped to a softened tone. I was nervous about how he would react. He'd been working out twice a day, bulking up for his Mitch Rapp role. It's been only two weeks since he started, but I could already see the differences in his body.
The weight he'd put on was gone, but he was just as thick. Now it was muscle. He still hadn't shaved, his beard nearing impressive lengths that I'd never seen on him before. I silently hoped he would keep it for a while longer. It seemed the training was releasing some of his anger that he'd held onto from the accident.
I knew Dylan was scared to continue acting, but thought it would be good for him.
"Yeah, a little bit. It's just my back is a little sore. I'm fine, though." He tried to shrug it off, but stopped halfway, and I knew the soreness was worse than he was telling me.
"Alright," I said, then quickly pushed him forward until he was on his stomach on the couch. He voiced his complaints of confusion. "Oh, shut it. I'm trying to help you." Surprisingly, Dylan obeyed my order, simply tucking his hands underneath his chin as he waited. "Where is your lotion?"
"The bathroom. Under the sink, why?"
"Don't move." I walked quickly to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Luckily, it wasn't difficult to find the lotion since everything was organized into little baskets. I grabbed the first one I saw and went back to Dylan, who hadn't moved from the position I forced him into.
I straddled his back, sitting on his butt as I lifted the back of his shirt. "Hold this." One of Dylan's hands curved over his shoulder to hook the bottom of his shirt in his fingers. The skin of his back was smooth and soft, and there was one large mole on his left shoulder. "Where does it hurt?" I warmed the lotion in my hands as I asked him.
"Sort of... You know, all over," Dylan replied hesitantly. I nodded, even though he couldn't see, and I placed my hands at his shoulders, planning to work my way down. The second I started to rub my fingers into the tense muscles of his back, Dylan sighed with relief, his head dropping so his cheek was squished against the couch. I hummed a tune quietly to myself, keeping my mind off the fact that he was so warm underneath me. And the fact that I wanted him. The further I massaged down his back, the looser his hand became until his shirt was just barely hanging on his fingertips.
"Hold your shirt, Dylan," I reminded softly, determined not to break him out of the lull he was no doubt feeling. The only indication that he heard me was the quick curl of his fingers into a fist, capturing the shirt again. I went down a little more, pressing the heels of my hands into the small of his back gently before sliding my hands outward, trying to release the tension in the muscles.
It must've worked because Dylan let out a loud moan that made me freeze on top of him. I'd never heard him moan before, and it was insanely hot. Dylan pushed his hips upwards so his butt pressed against my core, humming with displeasure at my halt in movement.
