Tristan reached the bathroom and pulled his jeans and underwear off, stepping into one of the shower cubicles to rinse himself down. That had been a close one. Seriously close. He wasn't happy. Well, he was very sexually satisfied, but he wasn't happy.
He dried off and pulled his jeans back on, cleaning his underwear off (underwear he'd borrowed from his brother anyway. He'd brought limited amounts in with him) with his wand. He'd have to borrow a pair now.
Tristan crept back into the room, prepared to act like cramp had struck him down, shuffling towards Taff's trunk at the end of his bed to get his underwear.
He couldn't see the bed moving, or any indication that Taff was still awake. Maybe they could just brush this away and neither of them would need to think about this ever again-