Work Text:
I was lying on my stomach, retyping whatever I saw fit on a shared document between me and Trevor on my laptop. Everything was on dark mode, and I was about to face-plant on the keyboard.
I was snapped out of my daze when I heard the water cease running, the bathroom door opening soon after. It was in that moment I deeply regretted turning my attention to Trevor. I’ve always seen him with a shirt on, and I’ve sometimes imagined—not fantasized—he’d be lanky without one. He’s an average guy, and you couldn’t beat me into praising his looks. He’s not attractive, all things considered. Another thing you couldn’t beat out of me is admitting I find physically fit men attractive, even if it was true; it’s not. I’d tell myself that million times over, even if I were currently staring at Trevor’s physique.
Good fucking god he was built like a Greek statue.
“Can you not?” He scolded me for staring at him like a playboy magazine. The upper half of my body felt steamy all of a sudden. I didn’t stop, though. I was staring directly at his broad shoulders, and lowered my eyes to his hairy arms.
“Why are you in a towel?” I blurted without second thought. He rolled his eyes and sighed in disbelief.
“Because I just got out of the shower? Are you—actually, no, I’m not even gonna ask; I already know you’re retarded.” Him being a snippy little bitch didn’t have the power to turn my head, and I kept staring at his torso like it was a hypnotist. Probably just jealousy, anybody would be.
“Well, you’re usually already dressed, it’s just weird.” I could always climb myself out of a grave, I wasn’t stupid and I certainly wasn’t swooned by his nicely toned body.
“Look, I’m tired, just shut up.”
Any man with enough meat on him could easily make me shut up—not because I was enthusiastic to accede to him bossing me around, but because it’d be asinine to defy someone who could rock my shit without trying. Now that I think about it… was he being easy on me when we fought? He just wouldn’t want to deal with charges being pressed against him.
I mindlessly turned back to my uninteresting screen when Trevor grabbed some random clothes from his drawer and headed back inside the bathroom. Great, now I had Trevor’s body on my mind.
I’m only making the—intrusive—thought worse by condemning it. I should embrace it—the fact that I think he’s pretty fucking hot. I will never see him punching me the same way again. I will also not be able to look at his arms without wanting them either around my neck or my waist. Either’s fine. On god, I want to place my hands on his chest and wander them like a sculptor with his masterpiece. He can beat me to the ground and I’d apologize for even provoking him to touch me.
Yeah… no. That makes it worse, actually.