Why hadn't he worn a skirt? He'd been feeling oddly vulnerable when he left the house, maybe that pushed a need to cover up just a bit more. Jamie is regretting it now.

He gets the button and fly of his shorts open and shoves them off. His panties are soaked through and there's the faint sheen of slick on his inner thighs. His shirt is next, dragged off in one hurried movement. The promise to fill him makes Jamie dizzy with need. That is exactly what he wants.

The panties are gone just second later. Jamie presses close, tipping his head to nuzzle Bashir's neck. That alone makes him whimper and he reaches down to shove the last bit of cloth out of his way so he can get his hand on Bashir's cock.

"Fuck," he gasps, blushing hot. "Please, darling."

Sofa. That clicks in his head and as painful as it is to pull away, Jamie does. He leans against the back of the sofa, bent over and trying not to rub against the upholstery.

He peers over his shoulder, soft lips parted as his breath quickens.