It started innocently enough: "Want to work out together today, like in the old days?" Nate asked, leaning against the doorframe with a smile that already held more than just a memory.
I agreed without a word. An hour later, we were at the gym, standing side by side at the bench, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, muscles tense. Nate lifted weights as if they weighed nothing, and I watched every contraction of his arms, every drop of sweat trickling down his spine. Our bodies worked in perfect sync, there was a tension in the air that no one needed to comment on.
"Remember how we always jumped in the shower after the gym? No questions asked," he said, reaching for a towel. There was a twinkle in his eye, but he said it with feigned nonchalance.
I looked at him calmly.
"I remember. If you want, we can do it again."
Once we got home, we didn't have to say a word. We just headed to the bathroom.
We took off our clothes without a word. First our T-shirts, wet with sweat, heavy. Then our pants, our boxers. Nate was in front of me, but every now and then he glanced over his shoulder. As if checking to see if I was there with him. As if he wanted to make sure that all of this wasn't just happening in his head.
We stood naked, facing each other just before stepping under the stream of water. His body glistened, his chest rising and falling slowly. I couldn't tear my eyes away either.
I stepped in first. The water was hot, soft, wrapping around us like air. Nate stood next to me. Our shoulders almost touched. I leaned slightly toward him and said in a low voice:
"Maybe we can do something today that we couldn't back then?"
He turned, looked me straight in the eyes. There was no hesitation left on his face. Only consent.
"Yes. I want to."
And those words were enough to change everything.
Under the stream of hot water, time ceased to matter. Our bodies were saturated with steam, our skin softened, and touch ceased to be just touch. It became a message.
I started slowly. My hands first moved over his shoulders, hard and tense. Water ran down them in wide streams. Nate didn't move, just watched as I washed him. I spread a small amount of shower gel over his skin and ran my fingers along his biceps, then over his collarbones. When I touched his chest, he sighed barely audibly. The gel formed a thin, slick layer, and my hands glided over his skin with care. Over his stomach, his sides, lower… But not there yet.
He took a deeper breath. Then his hand reached out to me.
"Now it's my turn," he said quietly.
He started at my neck. His fingers were unsteady but focused. He moved down to my chest, spreading the shower gel in broad strokes.
"Your chest..." he murmured. "Hard. I like how it tenses up when you move."
His voice was lower than usual. As if he were talking to himself, yet very much to me.
"And that stomach. Has it always been like that?"
I just smiled.
His hands began to move lower. My cock was already reacting, tensing, rising. I felt his thumb barely brush the line of my groin, as if checking if he could still. I did the same. I slid my fingers onto his hips. He didn't pull back for a moment. His body reacted, his skin trembling under my touch, and his cock slowly stiffening.
We were standing close together. Forehead almost touching forehead. Our breaths mingled with the steam. Our hands slid lower and lower. But not greedily. With a caution that was more erotic than any violent gesture.
The erections came naturally. In unison. As if the body were saying: I'm ready, but I'll wait for you.
And that was what was most arousing, that shared consent, the silence, and the awareness that each of us felt exactly the same thing, at the exact same moment.
The water ran down us in a steady rhythm. We stood so close that there was no room left for chance. Only for decisions.
Nate was the first to break the silence. His hand slid down to his own cock, gripping it firmly, without shame. He looked me straight in the eyes, as if what he was about to say was more important than the gesture itself.
"I've always had this fantasy..." he said calmly, his voice devoid of laughter or nervousness. "That I could come in the shower."
I didn't answer right away. I let that sentence hang between us. So he could feel its weight. So he'd know I heard him.
"How?" I finally asked quietly.
He hesitated for just a second. I could see his chest rising faster. His fingers clenching tighter at the base.
"Would you give me a blowjob?"
There was no pressure in that question. There was honesty. And vulnerability.
Water was still pouring down our backs. The steam was thickening. For a moment, I did nothing. I just looked. At his face. At the tension in his shoulders. At how fully present he was in that moment.
Then I took a step forward.
I didn't answer with words.
I knelt down.
At that very moment, Nate reached for the shower controls and turned off the water. Silence hit us suddenly, louder than the rush of the shower. Just our breathing. And the sound of droplets falling from our bodies onto the tiles.
I was in front of him. At the level of his hips. His cock was hard, taut, heavy. My own was throbbing, but I didn't touch it. All my attention was on him. On what he was entrusting to me.
I looked up. He was looking down at me. Without shame. Without backing away.
It wasn't a touch yet. It was stopping just before. The moment when fantasy ceases to be imagination and begins to be flesh.
And I knew that once I touched him, there would be no turning back.
The floor was cold beneath my knees, but I didn't feel it. I felt only him. The warmth of his skin, the tension in his thigh muscles, the weight of his cock right in front of me. It was hard, damp, smelling of shower gel and something that belonged only to him, his body, his tension, his desire. He was breathing deeply. So was I.
I started slowly.
I touched his head with the tip of my tongue, barely, just a brush. He flinched instinctively. A sigh escaped his lips, quiet, uneven. I ran my tongue along the shaft, from bottom to top, as if savoring every millimeter. I felt the pulsing, as if his body were telling me: more. I moved my mouth lower and came back up, this time parting my lips. I took his cock into my mouth. Slowly. Mindfully.
Nate braced his hands against the wall behind him. He tilted his head back slightly. His eyes were closed. But his hips moved forward slightly, as if he no longer wanted to control himself.
I sucked him rhythmically, with my mouth and my hand. I felt his head rub against my palate, his muscles tensing with every deeper thrust. I wrapped one hand around the base, resting the other on his hip to steady him. But he was already all mine anyway.
His thighs trembled. They tensed with every movement. I felt the veins under my tongue, the warmth, the weight that grew with every passing second. He began to moan softly.
"Matt..." he whispered. "Fuck..."
His hand reached down, tangling itself in my hair. He wasn't pulling. Just holding on. Gently. As if he wanted to make sure this was really happening. That I wouldn't disappear.
I started to pick up the pace. I could feel his body beginning to lose control. His hips moving to the rhythm of my head. His breath catching at the end of each stroke. With every movement, he became more ready. More completely mine.
And then I felt it.
A twitch. A muscle spasm. A dull, deep throbbing.
At the moment of his release, I didn't pull away. I took him deep, all the way down my throat, and then everything came. Hot streams of cum hit me in waves, thick, intense, endless. I swallowed them without hesitation. With my eyes closed. With my mouth still wrapped around his cock. I felt his whole body tremble. How he moaned. How he breathed in short, ragged gasps.
And when his hips finally stopped, I slowly pulled away. I heard him whisper:
"I never thought this would happen."
I looked up at him. With a quiet smile. I had one simple thought in my head:
"And this is still just the beginning of fulfilling your fantasies."
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