I was awakened by the sound of water.
First, the steady, monotonous hum of the shower. And then something else. Quieter. Deeper. A moan that could be mistaken for nothing else.
For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was still half-asleep, the morning light was just beginning to seep through the blinds. And again, that same sound. Heavy breathing, as if a body were fighting against itself.
I got up. Without rushing. As if I knew exactly what I was going to see.
The bathroom door was ajar. Steam hung in the air, warm and thick. I opened it wider. Austin was standing in the shower, naked, with his back to me. He was leaning against the wall with one hand, his head bowed, his neck tense.
Water ran down his back, over his broad shoulders, down his spine, lower still, over his round, firm buttocks, which looked almost too good in that light. Natural. Heavy. Real.
His body looked like it was begging to be touched.
"Again?" I asked calmly.
He flinched but didn't turn around. He was breathing heavily, as if the words needed a moment to come together.
"It was easier with her…" he said finally. His voice trembled slightly.
"I loved how she washed me. How she touched me, without rushing."
A short pause.
- "That's what I miss."
I stood in the doorway, watching the water run down his body as he stood there, stripped of more than just his clothes. And I already knew that this morning wouldn't end with just words.
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
I simply took off my boxers and set them on the counter. It came naturally to me, as if we'd practiced it dozens of times, though we both knew it was the first time.
I stepped into the shower without a word, moving close enough to him that the steam rising from his skin mingled with my breath.
"Then let me wash you now."
He stood in silence for a moment. The water drummed against his back. I could feel the muscles in his neck react to my voice.
"All right," he said finally. Plainly. But there was a hint of hesitation in it. Or maybe excitement.
I took the bottle of gel and squeezed it directly onto his neck.
I started at the top, spreading the lather with my hands, slowly, in circular motions. I could feel his body reacting to every touch. His shoulders, tense, hard, wet. My fingers glided over them with patient certainty.
Then I moved lower, to his shoulder blades, spine, sides, where he was more sensitive. He sighed, but quietly. As if his body betrayed him faster than his words.
I walked around him. I stood face to face with him, but his gaze was lowered.
I squeezed out another dollop of gel and began washing his chest, gently but with some pressure. The skin beneath my fingers was warm, taut. His abdominal muscles rippled as I moved my hands lower.
I reached his hips. I hadn't touched his cock yet. But I was close.
Too close for it not to affect him. Too precise for him to pretend it was just hygiene.
My hands glided over his thighs, and his breathing grew deeper, heavier.
He shuddered when I brushed the inside of his thigh. His cock was no longer still, it was slowly beginning to harden, rising beneath the streams of water. I didn't comment on it. I just took note.
Austin's body was open.
And I was just beginning to read it.
I reached for the gel again.
I took my time. I let the water run down our bodies, letting the steam settle on our skin and enclose us in this small, damp space.
I stopped and asked simply:
"Can I?"
"Do it," he answered immediately, his voice tight and hungry.
I squeezed the gel directly onto his cock.
For a moment, I just watched as the thick, slippery liquid ran down the shaft, mixing with the water, as his body reacted immediately, a slight contraction of his hips, heavier breathing.
"Take it easy…" I said quietly, more to his body than to him.
I wrapped my hand around him, slow, firm, and began to spread the gel with a slow motion, feeling under my fingers how it was hardening even more. His cock was hot, heavy, reacting to every millimeter of movement. I didn't speed up. I wanted the tension to build, not to explode too quickly.
With my other hand, I grabbed the back of his neck, lightly, firmly. I wasn't pulling him closer. I was just there. I was giving him a point of support.
Austin moaned. Deeply. Without shame.
His head dropped forward slightly, his forehead almost touching mine.
"Matt…" he let slip as he exhaled.
I didn't answer.
I changed the rhythm.
The movement of my hand became more decisive, but still fluid. Like I knew exactly what I was doing. My thumb slid over the tip, gathering moisture, sliding back down. Each time a little slower. A little harder.
Water poured over our bodies, splashing off his chest, running down his stomach and hips. His thighs tensed, his muscles working as if he were trying to maintain control, but it had slipped away from him long ago.
He moved his hips, instinctively, seeking deeper contact with my hand.
I let him.
But I was the one setting the pace.
"Breathe," I said quietly, near his ear.
He shuddered. His cock throbbed distinctly, heavy in my hand. I could feel the tension building throughout his entire body, in his stomach, his thighs, his neck, which I was holding.
This wasn't just washing anymore.
It was guiding his body to a place of no return.
And I knew exactly when he would get there.
I could feel it.
His body began to tense unevenly, small spasms under my hand, twitches in his stomach, his hips growing less precise, as if he himself no longer knew whether he wanted to hold back or give in.
But I knew.
I quickened the movements of my hand.
Not violently, just exactly when his body asked for it.
It sucked him in completely.
His cock hardened to the limit, and he moaned loudly, from the bottom of his throat, no longer in control of anything. His hand clenched my forearm, as if he needed something to hold onto so he wouldn't drift away.
And then he came.
Cum shot onto my thighs, my hand, mixing with the water, the gel, everything. The warmth of his ejaculation and the coolness of the stream combined into something unforgettable. His body rippled in my hand, his hip muscles pulsing for a few more seconds before going completely limp.
I stood before him, holding him, letting him finish in my touch until only breath remained.
Heavy, ragged, damp.
I leaned in and whispered in his ear, slowly, quietly, with a smile that knew everything:
"I hope I was better than her at this, too."
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Only silence remained.
Silence punctuated by breaths, dripping water, and something deeper… something we couldn't name yet
But it was already between us.
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