Joel unbuttoned his cuffs, pushed the sleeve back, glared at the stupid thing. He really wanted a word with whoever had invented a prosthetic whose straps were fiddly for the one-handed. “I just need to do the buckles.”

“May I help?”

Joel considered, not sure how he felt about that. Then he extended his arm.

Aaron moved over and ran his hand lightly over the pale, soft, freckled skin, tracing the edges of the straps where they touched the skin. Joel shivered, and his hand stilled instantly. “Is that—”

“Fine. It’s good.”

Aaron’s fingers moved again. He had big hands, capable ones. He eased the first strap very gently through the buckle, a slow unfastening. He eased the strap loose, sliding a finger underneath it, and Joel let out an involuntary whimper.

“Joel?”

“No, that’s—that’s good. Definitely.”

There was nothing erotic about the prosthetic. There was everything erotic about Aaron’s silent concentration, his hands on Joel’s skin, carefully tending to every strap and buckle in turn. Joel breathed through it, enjoying each loosening, and found himself almost sorry there were only four.

He pulled the prosthetic’s cup off his stump, and tossed it onto the table. He didn’t quite want to see whether Aaron was looking at the stump or avoiding doing so.

“Better?”

“Less likely to snag, anyway.” He pushed the rucked-up shirtsleeve down again. “I might keep my shirt on, though. For now.”

Aaron cupped the back of his head, tugging him over so they were body to body again. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“On which subject,” Joel said, slipping his hand round Aaron’s arse again, tilting his hips. “Shall we both get rather more comfortable?”

He felt breath ruffle his hair. “I would like that, but—ugh. I think you probably realise I don’t have a lot of experience. Certainly not as much as you.”

“Are you insinuating something, Detective Sergeant?” Joel enquired, mock-huffily.

“Habitual bad character?”

“Yeah, fair enough.” He very much wanted to pop Aaron Fowler’s cork for him. The question was how to go about that, and he suspected Aaron wouldn’t be much use at saying what he wanted, if he even knew himself.

Then again, those careful hands on the buckles...

“Well,” he said. “Turnabout is fair play, right?”

“Yes?” Aaron said cautiously.

“Then I think I deserve a policeman sucking my cock.”

Aaron inhaled sharply. There was a silence long enough for Joel to conclude without reservation that he’d got it horrifically wrong. Then Aaron’s hands dropped to Joel’s waistband, one on the button, one splaying over his erection, and he nearly collapsed in relief.

“I dare say you’re entitled to that,” Aaron said. “In a spirit of justice.” He moved the braces off Joel’s shoulders with his right hand, one at a time, keeping the other firmly pressed against Joel’s prick. “God. Here?”

Joel propped his arse against the table. “Right here.”