CHAPTER 23- RAPHAEL MOANING MY NAME

Liam raced to the bathroom his face burning in embarrassment.

He slammed the bathroom door behind him and locked it with shaking fingers. He pressed his back against the wood, breathing hard, a hotel pillow clutched desperately in front of his crotch to hide the obvious, aching bulge in his sweatpants. His cock was rock hard, throbbing painfully against the fabric, the head already leaking steadily, soaking through the material.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How the hell did he end up tangled in Raphael's arms like a puppy desperate for attention. He could still vividly remember the sensation of Raphael's warm hard body against his, their legs tangled like a fucking couple. How the hell had they discarded the pillow wall and why the hell did Raphael seem so pleased for the cuddling. He'd even felt Raphael's own cock. Shit! His thigh was right below it.

Liam’s own cock jumped at the memory. Shame burned through him like acid, but the arousal wouldn’t fade. It only grew stronger.

He turned on the cold water and splashed it aggressively on his face, over and over, until his skin felt raw and his shirt was damp. Water dripped down his neck and onto his chest. He gripped the edges of the sink with both hands, knuckles white, staring at his flushed, wild-eyed reflection in the mirror.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I just saw woke up tangled in a man's arms and instead of being disgusted, I’m hard as a fucking rock. I stayed in his embrace for seconds longer than necessary. Fucking pussy.

He berated himself mercilessly. I’m straight. I like women. Emma. Chloe. Soft curves, pretty faces, tight pussy. That’s what I want. That’s normal. This is just… a reaction to proximity.

But even as he thought it, the image kept replaying — Raphael’s low, desperate groan, the way his hips had bucked into his own fist, the vein pulsing along the underside of his cock. The dark heat in his eyes.

Liam’s cock throbbed harder. He pressed the heel of his hand against it through the pillow, trying to will it down. It didn’t help.

He stayed in the bathroom for what felt like forever, splashing more cold water, breathing deeply, trying every mental trick he could think of. When he finally felt composed enough — or at least presentable — he opened the door and stepped out.

The sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks.

Raphael was still on the bed, legs spread wide, sweatpants pushed down to his thighs. His hand was wrapped tightly around his thick, hard cock, stroking furiously. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, face contorted in extreme pleasure. His chest heaved with every ragged breath, abs flexing, muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Pre-cum leaked steadily over his knuckles, making the obscene, wet sound of his hand moving even louder in the quiet room.

Liam’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.

Raphael’s cock was bigger than in the dream — thick, heavy, veinier, the head flushed red and shiny with pre-cum. His hand moved fast, twisting at the head on every upstroke, thumb swiping over the sensitive slit. Raphael let out a low, broken moan, hips bucking up into his fist.

“Fuck…” Raphael breathed, voice wrecked and desperate.

Liam’s own cock jumped hard in his sweatpants, leaking more pre-cum. Heat flooded his entire body. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring shamelessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the sinful sight in front of him.

Raphael’s eyes snapped open. He froze mid-stroke, hand still wrapped around his throbbing cock, when he saw Liam standing there watching him in horror.

“Shit— Liam,” Raphael gasped, voice hoarse. “I thought… I thought you’d be in the bathroom longer. I’m sorry. I had to deal with this morning wood. It was painful as fuck after waking up with you all tangled around me.”

Liam tried to say something — anything — but only a strangled, incoherent sound came out. His face burned crimson. His cock was painfully hard now, tenting his sweatpants obviously. He couldn’t stop staring at Raphael’s hand, at the way his cock twitched in his grip, at the bead of pre-cum dripping down the shaft.

Raphael’s eyes darkened as he noticed Liam’s stare. He didn’t cover himself. Instead, his hand gave one slow, deliberate stroke, thumb swiping over the head, spreading the pre-cum.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” Raphael said, voice low and rough, “I’m going to lose whatever self-control I have left and jerk off right in front of you.”

Liam blinked, snapping back to reality. He turned on his heel and marched back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. His back hit the wood again, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.

From the other side of the door, he heard Raphael’s desperate groan. “Fuck…”

Liam pressed his forehead against the cool wood, breathing ragged. He could hear everything — the wet, rhythmic sound of Raphael’s hand moving faster, the low, raspy moans growing louder, the occasional curse.

God, his cock… it was bigger than in the dream. Veinier. Thicker. The way it looked in his hand… the way he was stroking it…

Liam facepalmed, mortified. Fuck! Now I have another image that’s going to torment me for days.

He could hear Raphael’s moans getting louder, raspier. The pace of his hand quickened. Raphael was cussing loudly, voice breaking.

Liam had to physically stop his own hand from reaching down to stroke his aching cock. That would be low. Even for him.

Raphael sounded like a fucking p**n star.

Liam itched to peep through the small gap in the door, just to see his unraveling face.

“Fuck… Liam…” Raphael groaned, loud and broken.

Liam’s breath hitched. What? He said my name? I misheard. Right? It couldn’t be my name on his lips right now.

“Oh pretty boy… fuck… you make me cum for you, Liam… ughhh fuck—”

Raphael’s moan turned into a long, guttural groan as he came hard.

Liam stood frozen against the door, cock throbbing painfully, face burning, mind reeling.

The silence that followed was deafening.

He stayed in the bathroom for a long time, trying to calm his breathing, trying to calm his body, trying to calm the storm in his head.

But the image of Raphael stroking himself, moaning Liam’s name as he came, refused to leave him alone.