He knew, rationally, that it was wrong.
He leant on the windowsill, his gaze falling down into the courtyard. Below him, he watched the four men, tossing the ball back and forth between them, leaping and running and laughing as they played their game.
He flicked his gaze over all of them, keeping up a pretence to an audience that wasn't witness to him. All lean, athletic and handsome.
All dangerous.
"Pass! Pass!"
The man yelling jumped as his companion twisted and threw the ball behind him. It sailed, there was a frost in the air as he prepared to catch.
He was knocked aside and the ball went straight to the other team. And he found his attention caught.
It was beyond an unhealthy obsession. His eyes followed each twist of muscle, lingered a moment too long on the frame of those tight buttocks in the denim shorts.
He closed his eyes, missed the scoring of the goal that had the object of his affection cheering.
Opened them in time to see the victors clapping each other on the shoulders.
"Remy can't believe y' missed dat!"
"Not my fault, they play rough!" Bobby pouted, but it quickly collapsed back into a grin. "You two are too competitive."
"We don't like losing." Warren smiled and flicked his hair back off his face. "Right?"
"Right."
The man in the window smiled slightly as he was witness to one of those shy smiles he so rarely saw. It might not have been directed at him, but it was enough.
The red lenses turned upwards and he realised he'd been caught watching.
A million thoughts flashed through his mind in the second it took for the mild confusion to appear.
He knows. He can't know. I was just watching them play. Except I wasn't watching them play. I was watching him play. I was watching him. I was hoping he'd feel comfortable enough with them to strip down like they are. I want something to remind me what those arms feel like, that broad chest.
I want to remember being held by him and feeling like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. I want to be the centre of his world again. I want him to whisper soothing nothings to me and press soft kisses on my forehead when I feel like I'm going to come to pieces.
A bright smile cut across the handsome face and a hand raised to shield his eyes from the sunlight. "Having fun watching?"
He wanted call back, but wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from saying why. He nodded instead.
"Come down and join us. Warren has to leave."
"Yeah, 'cause otherwise me and Remy going to kick his butt, and you know how our Scottie hates to lose."
He wanted to jump down and smack Bobby in the face. Wanted him to remove that small verbal claim, wanted no one else to be able to call him 'mine'.
He shook his head instead.
"C'mon, m'siuer. Remy 'n' Bobby go easy f'r an ol' man."
Righteous indignation and cold reality hit at once. He was an old man, compared to these four. Older than he had the right feel, anyway.
He didn't want to go play. Didn't want an excuse to watch, to brush, to be caught.
"Come on, Nathan."
He couldn't refuse him when he said his name in that way.
"You and me against Bobby and Remy."
You and me.
He shivered and climbed from the window, jumping out towards the court, cushioning the fall at the last moment to land on his feet, towering over the other three men.
Damned his weakness when one long fingered hand landed on his arm and squeezed, and Scott smiled up at him.
He was already damned.