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    Summary

    Declan's hand descended on Matthew's lap, perfectly aimed despite him keeping his eyes on the road. It was a talent of his to find Matthew's dick on the first try, without looking, even through baggy shorts or eye-searing patterns. It was like he had a homing beacon or something.

    "Matthew," he said plainly. "Hold it."

    Fuck. That wasn't his exasperated big brother telling him what to do anymore. That was—

    Matthew swallowed. He put his hand on top of Declan's; he could already feel the twinge of his bladder competing with the twitch of arousal. He said, "Okay. Yeah, okay, I can hold it."

    After a sharp, proprietary squeeze, Declan slid his hand out from under Matthew's and placed it back on the steering wheel, precisely at the 2 o'clock position. He said, "Good boy."

    Fuck.

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