A/N: Just pure smut. That's it. That's the chapter. *Faints*

Much has been changed in the new version; most dialogue entirely re-written and also the positions (?) and shower sex, much more detailed and realistic than before thanks to hours of research (HUH). 

I'm so sorry I haven't been able to reply to all the comments, but you can be doubly sure I read all of them! Hehe. Not Cuppie exposing all Beans with a *cough* breeding *cough* kink. Also, I'm very excited for next week's chapter. I rewrote the entire main challenge and it was so fun thinking it through. The characters really shine now, compared to before. 

Without further ado... enjoy :>

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[Leroy]

"I'll run a bath while you make yourself comfortable in the shower. After which, the plan is to um, convene in your space... according to your preference. That is to say, I will join you. In the shower."

There was something in his voice that gave the nerves away despite the confident front of his words. That, and the little waves in his eyes lapping against the shore with every tiny nuance of edge. The quilt he'd used to cover up—bundled like a ball of snow—had slipped off his shoulders and offered a view that would likely live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life, but it was ultimately the work of the bathrobe he'd slipped on quickly after that got the neurons up there firing fast.

We were standing in the doorway to the bathroom; shower to the right, hot tub to the left, vanity in the middle.

Not gonna lie, I wasn't the kind of guy to dish out detailed plans of how I expected evenings with my partner to go (pants off, lights down, bed warm), but if this was his idea of 'convening at midnight', I didn't see how I couldn't get behind it.

I held off on instincts to lay out the elaborate, award-winning plan I had in mind in perfect, New York Times bestseller English.

"It's called frotting."

He stared up at me with unblinking eyes. "... Pardon my confusion. I was trying to recall if I'd read about this somewhere, but..."

"There's friction; a lot of grinding. Touching. Non-penetrative." They called this problem-solving before the problem existed. "It won't hurt."

For a moment, disappointment crossed his eyes. "You mean it's just hands?" His gaze lowered and his grip on the handle of the door slipped. "... Well there's nothing wrong with that, but I was hoping..." He trailed off, rubbing the side of his arm that was now bare; bathrobe slipping off his shoulders and the knot around his waist loose—offering a glimpse of his briefs that peeked through the gap. White.

The distraction had me by the throat for a good minute.

"I was hoping we could make some progress on that front. After all, I um, would prefer if we didn't leave you hanging for the third time since we started... you know. Actually, I insist. But! Only if you're comfortable with that."

I crossed the threshold and crowded him against the wash counter, hearing his breath catch and feeling his fingers brush my arm for balance.

"That's very considerate, but I wouldn't worry about progress," I brushed the front of his robe aside and grazed the skin above the band of his briefs. "Cuz it's not gonna be just hands."

The look in his eyes turned curious for a second. "What do you—" Until I slipped an arm through the gap in his robe, wrapping around his waist and lifting him off his feet into the shower. "—! Leroy."

I closed the door and flipped the lock in place (in case Leo decided he needed his owner's attention and his new canine friend couldn't refuse); then, turned to the snowflake in my arms.

"I need to know this isn't the wine," I told him, setting him down and reaching over to get the overhead shower going. Pressed into his back.

"It's not." He shivered at the contact, head slightly angled over his shoulder and eyelids fluttering—gaze shifting from my eyes down to my pants, back up to my torso, then back down to my pants. "I'm sure of it. As far as I'm aware, I've... been... waiting." His voice dissolved into something soft at the end of his sentence and had its way with my appetite.

"Think I'd be lucky to have half your patience."

"Really?" He turned. A smile grazing his lips. Then proceeded to slide the bathrobe off his shoulders entirely. "You've been nothing but patient all these years."

"My mistake."

I abandoned the shower knob, leaning in first to take his hand in mine and guide his fingers past the band of my sweatpants; wrapped them around my shaft and kissed him quiet—reaching up to stroke the back of his neck and reel him in. Did not hold back.

His lips parted and I eased into a sweet rhythm of skin and taste that was everything I had missed. His other hand, resting on my chest for support, fell through—tensing and flinching at every movement I worked to deepen and coax.

It'd been some time since our last venture, weeks ago over at his place, so I forgot about the little sounds he would make with his guard down. Soft and pleasured. Sometimes, a whimper. Things like that would force his attention back onto the heat in his hand as though he wasn't expecting it to grow.

"Leroy," he broke off to catch his breath, surprised and struggling to keep up. I slowed down, redirecting my attention elsewhere—away from his lips and down to his neck. The space we were in had every sound doubly intense the way it bounced off the tiles, surrounding my senses. Leaving traces as it went.

I reached behind him for the shower knob to turn it on, switching places to shield him from the initial splash of cold. He flinched as soon as the water hit a part of his shoulders but I held him up, searching his gaze for a wave check.

"Hold on," he said suddenly, under his breath. "I... I'll put my hair up."

He removed the elastic tie around his wrist and snagged it loosely between his lips, reaching behind him to gather pale locks into something like a bun. Just, better. His fingers worked deftly, revealing the pair of ears hiding underneath his hair. On fire; shy of something sweet.

It felt like the flip of a switch.

Sensual was the word. The way he had his arms raised slightly—hands busy, gaze distracted—left his bare front open and unguarded. A view that never once crossed my mind but now, given a taste, was one I'd come to crave.

I slid both hands down the small of his back and past the briefs he still had on, tugging at, peeling off the thin material that was starting to turn translucent from the shower. The act felt criminal, twice as rough dealing with a piece of clothing so delicate; something about the span of my hands sinking into the softness of his skin, the curve of his ass. Large enough to encircle his waist.

None of this intimacy, he seemed to have expected. Flinching twice from sensitivity and parting his lips by accident, causing the elastic between them to fall and land between his feet on the tiled floor.

Instantly, his gaze was on mine. A silent accusation.

The way he reacted to having every inch of his skin touched and worshipped was both an honor, and my pride. He gave me a look while I mused, bending over to retrieve the elastic tie.

I reached for the band of my joggers and undid the knot there, freeing myself and pumping the shaft in full. Twice. Languidly; waiting for him to notice as he gathered and shaped his hair into something like a low bun and straightened back up.

Halfway there, he paused. Eyes leveling with it just a breath away and he altogether stopped and stared. It didn't feel right telling him what to do so I stayed put, giving him all the time he needed to take things in, musing over the mild alarm on his face. Adjusting the temperature of the water that had gone from freezing cold to lukewarm.

He looked up at me. Then back down at it before straightening up entirely. Swallowing once.

"... Second thoughts?"

His expression had indignance written all over.

"No." The genius reached down with both hands, pausing inches away from my shaft.

"Dumbest thing I ever heard you say."

"I'm... sure we've established the extent of our poor decision-making in the presence of one another." His fingers grazed my length. Thumbing over the tip. Bold for a brush. "Besides, I've done my fair bit of study."

I pulled him closer; eyes closed, water running down my shoulders and back as I savored every stroke of his hands—sometimes barely touching. Testing the waters while he teased the underside of my foreskin. He was looking at me when I opened my eyes, watching closely in the shade of curious. Like this was science and he was observing. Taking notes.

"Mind if I...?"

Bottles of complimentary soap sat on a small ledge built into the shower stall, made out of glass like the rest of the partition. I uncapped one and dispensed a good amount (rum-scented, according to the label), waiting for the green.

"O-oh." He looked away, fingers tentative. "I wasn't aware this was going to be... well. An actual shower."

"It is." I laughed, taking both his hands and guiding them upward to rest on my shoulders. Starting with his neck and arms, I worked the gel directly onto his skin with bare hands. No foam. Just soap. "Unless you don't want it to be."

His eyelids fluttered, like he was trying to contain his instincts to sink and melt under the heat, fighting the pleasure in his head. Coaxed by the temperature difference between my hands that were hot, and his skin that was cold.

"I don't mind it. It's rather intimate, really." He met my gaze; eyes half-lidded. "Taking a shower together and soaping one another is... a new experience indeed." He held out his hands, cupping them together. I dispensed some on both his palms.

"Could be a ritual...?" My hands slid lower down to his chest, and then, his waist. Pulling him close.

His hands faltered for a bit, not knowing where to start first with our fronts pressed up against one another and water running down our skin. Warm. He eventually started with my shoulders, doing his best to ignore the hard shaft grazing the dip of his navel while consciously arching his hips away to prevent his own erection from rubbing against my thigh.

Clearly, I was the one doing a better job at washing by far; only because my partner was distracted by everything else I was doing.

I pivoted slightly around, crowding him against the glass and prying his legs apart by setting one of mine between his. He struggled a little, hands scrambling for support (me) while attempting to bring his thighs back together.

"Leroy, this—this position, are you sure...? I don't think... I um, can't put my legs together."

"... That's the point."

He must have noticed the curve of my lips because the next thing I knew, his tone of indignance found its way back.

"I see. Well I hope you fall over."

I laughed into his neck. "It's just frotting, dumbass. Your legs don't give way like that. Unless...?"

"Oh be quiet." He shot me a look, glancing down as he shifted his legs to better accommodate the one between his. I shut him up effectively, appreciating the muted sounds he was making by doing exactly as he said—keeping quiet. His limbs gradually softened from the pleasure of a kiss, lips parted. Whimpering once.

Hearing it was an addiction.

Everything about him had me hooked. With his briefs halfway down his thighs hanging on for dear life and my sweatpants soaked, barely removed, but just enough for the comfort of freeing my cock, this was, objectively speaking, the worst shower in all of history. Subjectively speaking, best ever.

His breath hitched as soon as my hand wandered low, wrapping around his shaft and running the base of my thumb over the underside of his tip and pumping once. He suppressed a shiver. Sensitive; water running down his shoulders and every bit off it, looking good enough to drink.

Whatever I was doing, he liked it.

The view was wine. I pulled back to admire more of it but his fingers had a grip on my shoulders as we were making out and had somehow moved up and out—locked behind my head with his forearms resting on my shoulders instead. I obliged, letting him have his way until we remembered air was a thing.

"You're really... good at that," he seemed to note quietly after catching his breath; eyelids fluttering, gaze going down to my chest and then back up to meet mine, a stray lock of wet hair getting in the way.

"You say that like it's our first time."

I tucked that behind his ear, ensuring a clear view of his face before bracing my hands on the sides of his hips.

And grinding once.

The setup was meant to ease him into a kind of friction that wasn't just hands. He squirmed from the sudden warmth of contact and somehow in my head, I knew his toes were curling. The stimulation was mutual—guiding his hips to move against mine for the pleasure of having my cock against his.

I did it again and his mouth dropped open on instinct, back flinching and leaning into the contact for more. "H—what..."

Once more.

Still, no hands. But the movement itself resembled actual fucking. "Good?"

There were a bunch of nerves right under the head of every shaft that made it extremely sensitive the less often it was stimulated. It didn't take a genius to figure out how that might apply to him and, well, helps that I liked it too.

"I... that," he swallowed a sound and wouldn't speak for the next ten seconds. "Leroy." He couldn't look at me; eyes shut, head tilted slightly backwards.

"Mm?" I leaned in, grazing the tip of his ear with my tongue. Biting a little.

He flinched again.

"It's... too hot."

"The water?" I slowed down, leaning back to search his eyes. They were downcast. "No. Not that, I... it's nothing."

I glanced down to take things in. There was something about his shape, his frame, and seeing water running down every nook and cranny of his that made all of him very hard to resist. The skin on his collar bone was flushed and everything looked smooth to touch. Slim, narrow at the waist. Inviting.

Snow was melting under my gaze. He looked conscious all of a sudden, embarrassed and probably wondering what was up with me leaving him hanging in the middle of foreplay. His hands ended up in a comfort position I'd seen them go for in times of need.

It was cute.

"Why are you covering your face?" I laughed under my breath. Couldn't help it.

"Well! I don't know either. Maybe it's an instinct. A product of embarrassment caused by you. Like so. By you... staring openly. Like... like so," his voice quivered, and it was making the nervous English a lot less easy to get without stopping to think.

I took one of his hands by the wrist and pulled it away from his face.

"..."

Needy was the word for the look in his eyes. All these years and still, another first; another sip that tasted so sweet, it could be heard. The view sent everything rushing straight down as soon as I saw the effects of my teasing. The edging.

"Hold tight."

"Wh—"

I leaned down while he was distracted, taking his hand and guiding it between us, wrapping it around the base. Where his and mine met. The combination of all this, accumulated over the past couple of minutes, seemed too much for his head to put together, let alone think and speak.

Dazed eyes, blinking slow, dizzy with pleasure, he was leaning into the contact before he knew it; other hand reaching up steady himself on my upper arm.

I obliged by picking up the pace.

He caved as soon as I got us into a rhythm, shivering almost as though he'd been waiting for the work up to orgasm and his breath, hitching, anticipating some form of reward. I watched.

Side note; frotting is vanilla. As in, if there was a book about sex, this would be on page one basics under the introduction or some shit because it really doesn't involve much and frankly, I hadn't exactly thought highly of it either. Not anymore.

We grinded against each other; against the friction of both our hands—cupped. Mine over his. He was smaller. So each time he dropped or I thrusted, the underside of my tip would stroke his entire length and his breath would hitch. Like he was moments away from becoming undone.

Something about this made it hotter than an ordinary hand job. Watching this bit of intimacy send him into overdrive was just... peak satisfaction in my books.

"... Close?"

He nodded, lips drawn thin as though he was afraid to speak at all or what he thought was a calamity might unfold and he'd lose every bit of control left in him.

Didn't last very long.

In a heartbeat, he shot first—tugging at my wrist to have me let go while positioning his other hand above his tip to keep his ropes clean even in the shower.

Not gonna lie, I mused over that for a bit since it was the entire reason we took things here in the first place and frankly, hand or not, I sure as hell knew it wasn't going to look this pretty on my turn. Not by choice.

"Sorry, I... went ahead and..." He leaned his head backward, resting on the glass like he'd just powered through a marathon and needed to catch his breath. "It happened so quickly."

"That's the point," I kissed him quiet. Chaste, on the lips. "You're supposed to cum more than once. Can you turn for me?"

"Oh. More than once?" His eyes widened a little, dazed as he straightened up and peeled himself away from the glass. "And yes, o-of course."

He felt his way around the shower room and the burn of impatience in my fingers had me grabbing him by the waist soon enough—flipping him around with his hands braced against the glass. The desire for intimacy running down every other thought in my head.

"Ideally, yeah."

"I... how many...?"

"Three times." I lined myself up, shielding him from the water that was now slightly hotter than before and letting it run over my shoulders. Down my torso. Over my cock. "At least."

I backed him up against the wall and pressed gently down on his back. Bending him forwards.

Don't know if it was a part of his personality or a natural flow of things, but he took the silent instructions really well; hips raised, back arched. Like he knew what I was about to do and just how I wanted it.

Unintentionally, I stood back to admire the view for the third (fifth, maybe) time this evening, brushing the pad of my thumb over his hole and teasing it slow.

He shaved, I noticed. All the way down there. Again, just like before.

It hit me hard right then and there.

That the one snowstorm in my head had been considering or expecting—possibly even desiring—the intimacy we were sharing this very moment and had been, in some way or another, preparing for it was mindblowing. To the extent that he'd gone the extra mile to do something like that at an incredibly sensitive area, out on a work trip, far away from home.

Hair or not, I wasn't going to mind. It was the effort he put in and the fact that he'd been anticipating this that turned the heat up a couple notches.

I spent five seconds buffering.

"Um...?" A hand of his reached behind him in a way that was hesitant. Doubtful. As though checking if I was still there, present, with him in the moment; wondering why I hadn't started. "Does it, look..."

"Stunning? Yeah."

Instantly, he flustered. "Well then..."

And then, he did the unthinkable: rolled his hips backward against the underside of my shaft in a way that could not be interpreted as anything other than encouraging. That, or provoking.

I never know.

Surprises had always been his thing. Pleasant ones.

I caved in a heartbeat, leaning down to kiss his hand and guiding it to the back of my neck. Something for him to hold on to for support. Our eyes met briefly when he angled his head slightly over his shoulder, before fluttering the moment I started moving.

It was letting my entire length graze his hole, stroking it slowly with every thrust, kissing it with the head of my shaft and grinding between his cheeks—hot water running off my cock and down to where he shuddered. Sensitive.

The heat was intense from the get-go, and the bathroom had every sound we made amped up high. Including the little sounds he tried to suppress. I picked up the pace bit by bit, listening and paying close attention to his reactions; fingers curled behind my neck, spasming once. Twice.

Seconds.

I saw his shoulders tense, the small of his back flinching before he let slip an addictive sound that went straight to my cock. Mostly in surprise.

"Wait—"

He came.

Again, in a matter of seconds with just a couple of thrusts and pumps. His voice was barely audible when he spoke, and I think that, too, surprised him. I mean it all happened in the snap of a finger; pleasure cresting over the curve of his back and next thing I heard was a flustered cry so sweet I could have tasted on my tongue.

He wasn't moving. Aftershocks pulsing through his veins as he held on to me and I reeled him in. It was after checking the state of his lower half that I realized he might've been a tad overstimulated from the shower and this combined. It looked intense; the way his body sent itself straight into the realm of shivers and skipped all the build up. Eyes closed, brows knitted. All this, I had a front row seat to.

Then, it clicked. He'd been practicing. With that. How else would he feel the high of having something hard and foreign tease his hole without any prior testing? They called it anal training for a reason.

"...Leroy?" He managed softly. "Sorry I... again. I don't know what happened."

There was a short struggle to meet my gaze as he came to, then a couple of rapid blinks while he gathered his thoughts.

"I think you're overstimulated." Just closing my eyes was enough to relive the moment; sounds and all. "Don't apologize. We can stop for now. Take a break or something."

"No." His lips formed a small pout. Rare. Very rare. It didn't take him very long to hide in my shoulder by leaning close—arms going round my neck and holding on while I massaged the tension in his back. "As... as embarrassing as it is to admit, I um. I quite liked that."

"... You could've told me you've been practicing."

"Well I wasn't sure if it'd turn you away if I, well, admitted to something so... crass. Not that it is, per se. Just. I was afraid it would seem like I was putting pressure on you. Even after we agreed on, you know, holding off on us. Either way, I didn't want you to feel obliged in any manner, so."

I snorted a laugh. Only because him admitting all this was doing the complete opposite of what he thought it would do.

"I want more of this," I told him. "You telling me what you're into."

"Oh." He said quietly; the light in his halflidded eyes shifting to my lips for a fraction of a second. "That's... yes. It can be done. I shall make a list."

Inside, I was trying hard not to crash out. A list, he said. There's a fucking list of things he liked—a list of things he wanted to do.

With me.

He continued to hold on to my shoulders while I killed the shower with my free hand and then picked him up by the waist. Unfortunately he was denied the firefighter lift.

"We're not stopping are we?" He seemed worried and a little confused, gaze following my hands but letting himself be handled. Complete faith and trust. "Just now, you said... more than once. A-and and and you haven't had your turn yet."

His hands locked up behind my back all of a sudden, as though afraid I was about to cut things short and end the night. Meanwhile, I was trying my best not to laugh at how serious the snowflake was about fulfilling his seesaw-ing duties. As though participation points were a thing and he was constantly raising his hand in class for the teacher's attention.

So fucking cute.

"Jesus christ you're full of surprises." I gave him a look I wasn't sure he'd catch. He did. "Part two, remember?"

To prove my point, I set him down in the hot tub that had been gradually filling itself up. Nearly halfway there.

"Oh! Yes I, um... nearly forgot about that." He turned away. Sheepish.

I'd set him down with his feet towards the faucet and instantly, his shoulders relaxed at the warm embrace of the water. Lavender-scented, thanks to the complimentary bath bomb that came with every hotel room. He gazed up at me with his legs curled.

"Heads up, I blow bigger loads sitting down," I told him. Just a little warning.

His reaction was a guaranteed malfunction which I had expected and noted as part of my personal enjoyment. The room went completely silent save the sound of running water gushing into the tub.

"Ah."

Was all he ended up saying, gaze lowering to the water and easing into it slowly, as though attempting to hide his embarrassment from the shocking news. "Down bad" was an understatement. I was beyond saving. To be fair, he wasn't exactly helping. The one, singular fact holding me back was a thin line: verbal consent or not, I wasn't sure if he was completely sober.

The honesty and eagerness he was presenting (yes, super hot, ten-out-of-ten) could very well be the work of wine and the other glasses of alcohol he'd had at the dinner party. The last thing I wanted was for him to wake up in the morning with regret in his eyes.

Despite whatever he said about being clear-headed as day, I knew my job was to look out for him. Alcohol was good at removing inhibitions which meant that everything, including the stuff he wouldn't have chosen to do while sober, was on the table.

"You won't feel it though."

I slid into the tub, taking the backseat while he was distracted—pressing my chest against his back and snaking my arms around the front of his waist. Leaning in.

"Mm..." He had the audacity to sound upset. "I suppose you're right. What with the water and all..."

"The fuck you sounding disappointed for?" I laughed into the crook of his neck. Taking in his scent.

"Well! You... you can't simply not expect me to feel the tiniest bit intrigued by your statement, Leroy. Surely you understand my curiosity." He sat between my legs as he explained himself, scooping bubbles as they rose with the water level.

"We'll see about that when you're sober."

"... Sometimes I wish you weren't so courteous for an idiot," he hit back with wit, the kind of smile in his voice I'd hear whenever he was up for a tease. "You're allowed to forget your manners every now and then. After all, I've been pardoning every single rule break you've made in front of me over the course of, what, seventeen-or-so years."

"And the arrest warrants?"

"All drafted. Never sent." He glanced over his shoulder. Invitation in his eyes. "Pity, isn't it?"

All this, he said while I trailed kisses down his nape, hearing the little sighs he'd make at the spots that were sensitive. It was his ears next. And then, a little lower down the front of his waist; fingers tracing his skin.

"Surprised you haven't given up on that."

"Never."

The moment softened into a dream. Outside the glass shower room, every sound seemed to occupy less space than before—bouncing back in a way that felt as though there were several worlds at once, and we were living in the first. Separate. Loud in its release but gentle once returned.

He leaned into my embrace just then. Which I figured was my cue to get things started

Hands strayed a little further down to his thighs, pushing them close until his knees were touching and couldn't go any further. Then in a single movement, lifted him just enough to slide my shaft between the gap in his thighs.

It was the friction that caused him to flinch. A spot on his inner thighs that ached with sensitivity. I worked my thumbs, kneading slowly. Massaging in circles.

"Nh... m—!"

He splashed, twice, on instinct, and I could hear bathwater hitting the tiles on the floor. His knees buckled almost instantly but I held fast, keeping him in place while the elastic in his hair loosened from the sudden movement and stray locks broke free.

My fingers gradually worked their way between his legs and with just one hand, began to stroke him slow. Right away, the muscles around his hole tensed up, flinching above the base of my cock before eventually settling into a rhythm of clenching and unclenching. Like it was responding to the movement of my hands. And with how we were positioned, front and back, the full-on contact was unavoidable.

Also intentional.

"Were you always this sensitive here?" I reached down and under, index brushing his entrance. He cut off a gasp by biting down on his lip, legs squirming.

"That's... well, I... suppose I might've been."

He tried to put his hair up again after it had come undone, scrambling to do it quickly to free up his hands. But I wasn't going to wait. My other carried on with the teasing, circling his hole that was now underwater.

"Really."

I watched over his shoulder; tracing the pads of my index around the sensitive bud while pumping his front. Deliberately slow. Intense.

"That—nh... Leroy, wait..." His breathing stuttered. "I'll..."

I laughed beside his ear, nuzzling along the edge and licking. "Close again?"

Filling in his blanks was not something I got to do very often. Moments like these were unexpected and gold; they lived in my head rent free. He was nodding—dazed and drunk on pleasure, but nodding.

The water level obscured the view with bubbles and foam but a general awareness of where things were was enough for me to continue where I'd left off with his thighs.

"Please... s-s... not so... mmh—"

A bunch of words, sweet-sounding and flustered, made zero sense when he strung them together under his breath. Most of everything seemed to end with my name. I could tell he was holding back. Or at least something was, and he seemed a little upset about being stimulated in two places at once.

"Hold onto the sides."

I brought his hands to the edge of the tub and locked them there, fingers curling over the rim before straightening up, sliding my hands down to his hips for a better grip.

It was a view I could feel.

His legs were positioned exactly how I'd wanted them to be. Feet side by side without any room to spare and knees together, leaving a sweet opening between his thighs that looked ten times more inviting than before in full view. Already, I was feeling the first spikes of pleasure and anticipation from the initial thrust. Addictive.

Then, thanks to science and the principle of buoyancy (unsure, needed input from currently occupied genius), I lifted him straight up by the waist; slid my hands along the undersides of his inner thigh for easy control—and snapped my hips upward. Between his thighs.

He let slip a hushed whimper, one hand reaching up and behind his back in search of comfort.

I leaned into his touch; letting his fingers brush my nape as they attempted to hold on while I rocked and pleasured. Both him and myself.

His voice was snow in the summer heat. "Leroy, please."

I eased in harder, grazing his hole for a little extra contact, lining up skin to skin. Listening as he held back sound after sound of surprise.

There was something about feeling his legs flinch underwater, his feet arched and grazing my own that frankly drove me insane. He'd handed over the reins, trusted me completely despite the lack of grounding from being handled in the water; relying solely on my grip and control of his body. That, and his hands ghosting the edge of the tub.

I picked up the pace, driving into the gap between his thighs and feeling the insane, pleasure-fucking friction at every snap of my hips. Every thrust was control, lost. Sparks. Spikes going down my front and building. Snowballing fast.

"You feel so good."

He was flinching, shuddering, eyes half-lidded when he turned at the compliment. Just a shy thrust away from his climax.

"Ah—m-mh. Nh, no more... I... can't—"

"Not yet."

I made him ask for it.

Something in me wanted to hear, to see that part of him undone, but as it turned out, saying just that was enough to drive him over the edge. He came first; again. The third time this evening. Shivering and arching his back in the heat of his high, hips meeting my thrusts before locking in position for three seconds.

It was his attempt to contain another one of those sweet sounds that had me following; releasing the load that had built up over the past couple of weeks.

Cloudy white streaks in the water.

Glimpses of it among the bubbles in the bath before they dispersed. He thought it was his, initially. For the first ten seconds, amidst open-mouthed pants and blank pauses, he tried to apologize—neck-deep in embarrassment for cumming in the bath even though the crime was, to my knowledge, mutual.

It was only when the streaks didn't stop there that it began to startle him.

The look on his face was peak comedy; as though this was science class in high school and I was his lab partner for an experiment. Today's specimen: my load under a microscope, to be examined. Flabbergasted by its magnificence would have been an understatement.

Each time the streaks dispersed, they'd appear again.

"... Told you." I had my arms around him as he fixed his gaze on the bathwater in complete awe.

"Well, I... stand corrected." He managed weakly, turning around to meet my gaze. "That was... impressive."

"Flattered, Mr. White." I laughed under my breath, recovering much quicker than I expected and standing to turn off the running water before stepping out of the tub. Holding out a hand. "I promise we're taking a real shower this time."

"I'll take your word for it. That was highly unexpected. Not... not unwelcome, just. Unexpected." "The fact it's not on the walls or the floor. I'd count my blessings if I were you." "Is! Is that what you always—... I daresay it could even put out a fire by this point." "The crew would be proud." "Of course. Until it becomes a choking hazard..." "Zales told me they got a call last week for 'severe abdominal pains' after some guy tried to take nine inches." "Wh—! Nine?" "Yeah." "Well that's impossible." "..." "..." "..." "Please don't tell me..." "I won't tell you." "Surely, you jest." "..." "Surely!" "Look who's worried now." "Disbelief, concern, and worry are completely different emotions." "We'll see." "H... w-what do you... it is a fact, Leroy. Not something to be contested." "We'll see." "Oh be quiet, you." "We'll see."