The things he did for his twin, for this man in he inexplicably loved and cared for, that he couldn’t rightly live without. He snorted and popped the candy, the taste of cherries and wine and raspberries coating his tongue, dissolving quickly.

The heat came on fast, faster than he thought it would, surging through him. He gasped, nipples peaking, his groin throbbing, making him wriggle some in his chair.

“Shit, James...” he moaned, the heat intense, to much, the fabric on his skin torture. Before he could think it through, if he could at all, he arched back in the chair, tearing off the flimsy cotton, baring full, flushed breasts, nipples rising and falling as he planted with growing need, fingers going to scramble at his jeans.