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Summary
Ryan swallowed dryly, barely breathing as he watched as Naim stepped out of his pants, an embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks.
He knew Ryan was watching.
But Ryan couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Naim bent over, soft, heather grey boxer briefs hugging his pale thighs, and a little cotton string, suspiciously pink, was dangling from the border of cotton.
Ryan swallowed, and Naim bent down further, digging through his gym bag to find his shorts. His ears were bright red as he let out a frustrated huff. There was a tiny blood stain, an oval of bright red nestled between his legs, just barely obscured from Ryan’s view. And Ryan, still shirtless, hastily pulled his sports uniform over his head.
Naim was bleeding.
Or
Ryan is an eater.
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