"Was what my plan?" Jesse grits out, trying his damnedest to turn away and angle himself toward the corner of the stall because what the fuck does Chazz think he's doing just peering over at him like that? It'd be creepy if the hot spray of the water wasn't keeping him going while his forehead hits the wall and his hand begins to stroke helplessly faster.

"Chazz... Please--"

Could he sound any more pathetic or desperate? Probably. But right now Chazz's gaze on him is fucking torture, so it's hard to imagine anything more intense.