They arrive at their room, where Rayner fiddles with the key card before figuring out where to slot it. The light on the door blinks green. The lock clicks open. They push inside.

Hale nearly drops the bags he'd been carrying.
Ambient blue light with accents of pink fills the room, shining from the strip-lighting around the walls. Furniture, including a chaise longue, all appear wood-carved and upholstered in velvet. Except for the bed which is a sprawling thing covered in a down duvet and fur throw. The room is large, with a sunken living area where—Hale feels a twinge of curiosity—a claw-footed bathtub stands next to a tall window overlooking fields and the notched spine of a mountain range.

Two ferns frame the bath. It's the clear focal point of the room, with rose petals scattered around it and everything.

"I think Maci gave us the honeymoon suite," Rayner says.

"It appears so," Hale agrees.

"Well." Rayner drops the bags at the foot of the bed. "Have you ever had a bath?"

"No. Showers are more efficient."

Rayner's heartbeat takes up a tripping cadence in Hale's data streams, and he approaches the tub. "We're not in a rush, are we?" Rayner runs a finger along the porcelain rim. "It's big enough for two."

Comprehension dawns. "Oh."

In a rush, Hale dumps their bags of clothes and supplies on the bed. Rayner runs the water, holding a hand under the tap to check the temperature, asking Hale whether it's too hot or cold for him, if androids have a temperature requirement. His voice breaks with nerves.

Hale wants to reassure him, but he's anxious too. Rayner stands to face him. The babbling sound of the bath running doesn't drown out the roar of information Hale receives through his data streams, or his own racing heart.

To answer Rayner's question, Hale leans past him to run a finger under the tap. He receives a temperature readout of thirty-nine degrees centigrade and increases the hot water flow a touch. When he straightens, Rayner's hands move, hovering at Hale's hips a moment before settling there. Thumbs hooking under the hem of his shirt.

He peels Hale's shirt off first. Standing on tiptoe because Hale's taller. He drops the shirt. His hands go back to hovering.

Hale never felt any particular need for modesty—when he'd first changed in front of Rayner, he'd learned that Rayner absolutely did because he'd fled the room. Now Rayner undoes the clasp on his belt, and Hale doesn't feel modest, but he does feel a lot of other things. The whisper of fabric gliding over his skin. The cool air. Rayner's eyes on him. Then his hands. They've done this before, but this time there's no need for urgency. They can take their time, and the slowness of the moment makes undressing feel fragile. Intimate.

When he's finished Hale reaches for the hem of Rayner's shirt too, but Rayner stops him.

"I'm going to clean up in the bathroom first."

"The purpose of a bath is to clean up."

"Not this one. And I've got to, like, manscape 'n stuff."

"I like this though," Hale says, sliding a thumb under Rayner's shirt and over the line of belly hair, which occupied a frankly embarrassing proportion of Hale's thoughts. Rayner's breath catches.

"Not that kind of— Just get in the bath. I'll join you in a minute."

Hale's eyebrows shoot up in comprehension. He narrowly avoids saying, 'Oh you mean rectal douching!' out loud. Rayner grabs his duffel and one of the plastic bags then vanishes into the lavatory.

Hale turns off the tap and steps gingerly into the bath, one foot at a time, glad now that he doesn't have Rayner watching because there's no graceful way to enter, and he has to adjust his balance actuators to compensate for the slippery bottom. He manages to slide in without splashing though. Once he does he leans back against the sloped porcelain, sinking into the water as the heat washes through him.

It's strange. In humans, a raised body temperature causes better circulation of blood to the skin and alleviates stress. For Hale, it forces his cooling systems to work harder so he stays at the optimum temperature for best performance.

It shouldn't be soothing, but it is.

Perhaps because it's the first moment of stillness in a sequence of days where there were none. He has no list of daily objectives to tackle, no imminent threat of discovery looming, no purpose. Once, that might have unnerved him. Now, he tips his head back and looks out at the stretches of snow, the squat rooftops of the town, the mountain range, the pale amber sky, and there is nothing else to do but look.

Maybe worry a little that he won't be able to perform under the mounting pressure as Rayner takes his time in the lavatory.

He does emerge eventually, wearing only a fluffy, white towel around his waist, hair still damp. The towels are not as large as the ones Rayner kept in his home. There is a lot of leg on show.

Rayner asks, "How's the bath?"

"You've showered already," Hale says.

"I felt grimy. Didn't want the water to turn grey when I got in," Rayner says. "Do you like the bath? Some people don't—"

"It's very nice."

"Just nice?"

Hale drags his eyes away from exposed skin to meet Rayner's amused gaze. "I can think of a number of ways to improve it."

Rayner doesn't take off the towel or get in. He kneels on the warm tile and leans against the edge of the bath instead. Lazily, he drags the tips of his fingers through the water, then up Hale's arm, leaving a trail of water droplets along his skin.

"Such as?"

"As previously discussed—" His breath staggers as Rayner splays his hand across Hale's chest. "—You could join me."

"Yeah?" His hand slips below the water.

Hale tries to remain composed, but his abdomen clenches in anticipation of that hand's trajectory. "Yes."

"You'd like that?" Rayner continues teasing, leaning forward so Hale's vision is filled with the beautiful geometry of Rayner's features, his lowered lashes, the deep brown of one eye and the startling blue of the other.

"Yes."

Rayner kisses him in answer. If the undressing had been fragile and intimate, this kiss is its opposite. Boldly tasting. Devouring. Divesting them both of any lingering shyness. Rayner sucks Hale's lower lip into his mouth and nips. Meanwhile his hand continues its journey down the planes of Hale's abdomen before curling around the hard length of him. Hale's hand—the one not currently tangled in the mess of Rayner's wet curls—clenches around the lip of the tub. Sparks of pleasure follow the path of Rayner's hand, and Hale still isn't accustomed to it. After so long an embargo on touch between them it's enough to undo all his higher faculties.

He's too hungry to ask Rayner to hold back. So it should be something of a relief when Rayner's hand breaks the surface of the water and his lips break the kiss. The withdrawal of pleasure leaves the build-up of tension with no outlet though, and Hale grumbles in disapproval.

Rayner stands and doesn't give him much time to recover before dropping the towel from his waist and stepping into the bath. He sinks down opposite Hale, his feet either side of Hale's hips. The displaced water rises dangerously high at the edge of the tub.

Hale tries not to pout. "Come closer."

Rayner's crooked smile quirks a little higher, dimpling his cheeks. "You're very demanding when you're turned on."

Hale starts to lean forward to cross the distance himself, but Rayner plants a foot against his chest and pushes him back against the rim of the tub. Hale looks incredulous. Some water splashes out the side onto the tiles.

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"Because," Rayner says with the same crooked smile, "I like teasing you."

Two can play at that game. Feeling daring, Hale runs his palm up Rayner's calf, then behind his knee. At the same time he leans forward, Rayner's leg bending to permit it, and Hale is close enough now to slide the other hand up Rayner's thigh. He traces a thumb along the crease of his hip. Rayner doesn't break eye contact, but his cheeks turn rosy, and not from the heat of the bath. He lets his foot slip from Hale's chest, instead hooking a heel around Hale's waist, the restraining motion transforming into an invitation. One Hale greedily accepts by closing the short distance between them. He pulls up short of kissing, instead nosing past Rayner's jaw line to suck at a drop of water traipsing down his throat.

"Th-that's not fair." But he's tipping his head back, and Hale thinks it's plenty fair as he makes his way across the long curve of Rayner's collar bone. There's an art to seduction, he's sure, but there's a science too. Following the jump of Rayner's pulse, searching for the spots that make his heart stutter. Hale massages his thumbs into Rayner's hips, and when Rayner's thighs fall open it would be very easy to do a lot of things. If he moved just a little closer then they could—

The heel digs into his hips, Rayner's invitation now a demand. More.

But water is a poor substitute for lubricant. Plus, Hale has to admit he likes the game too. So he pulls back, retreating to his side of the tub and watching Rayner's eyes flutter open in bewildered confusion at the sudden loss of contact.

"Traitor," he says. "Come back."

"No." It's a revelation to say it because a week ago Hale would have interpreted Rayner's words as an irrefutable demand.

Rayner's smile widens into a grin. "Then I'm coming over there."

Hale doesn't stop him. Rayner glides over, water murmuring in his wake. He puts both hands on Hale's shoulders. It's a good thing the bath is broad, because there's enough space for Rayner to straddle his lap and—

Hale's mind goes quietly, deliciously blank. Rayner's movements, the kiss he uses to part Hale's lips, are both slow and indulgent. The rock of his hips makes the water slosh a little over the sides of the tub. It also drives Hale mad as Rayner's cock glides against his.

He'd imagined having Rayner so many times, and his imagination had apparently never been creative enough. There are countless ways this man could bring him to the brink of pleasure. With a sense of reckless abandon, Hale shifts his hands from Rayner's hips to the curve of his ass, thumbing the two dimples that mark the base of his spine and revelling in how it makes Rayner open his mouth wider, kissing hungrier. There's a plaintive desperation to it as Hale draws him closer, their bodies tight together, the friction of Rayner's bucking hips making Hale near numb with overstimulation.

Perhaps he had been teasing and pushy before, but Rayner melts and submits completely to Hale's hands exploring him. Kneading his ass and sliding his fingers lower to the slippery place where Rayner prepared himself.

Into Hale's mouth, he says, "Please."

"Bed," Hale answers.

Rayner groans.

It takes a monumental effort of engineering and balance programming for Hale to stand with Rayner in his arms and step out onto the tiles without slipping. Rayner clings to his shoulders, legs wound around hips. Hale has enough patience to grab a towel to prevent them from soaking the duvet, but not enough patience to dry them both before throwing Rayner down on top of it. Rayner turns onto his stomach, hips cocked up, looking over his shoulder.

Hale has other ideas. A short diversion to grab a bottle of lube, then Hale stretches out next to Rayner.

He flicks open the bottle. Rayner says, "I already did that."

"The bath was counter-productive in that regard," Hale argues. He's too flustered to add that he wants to do this. To explore Rayner's flexibility, to find the places that make him moan.

It will also give Hale a moment to breathe because if they have sex now it will just be a repeat of his earlier performance, or lack thereof.

Propped on his elbow, Hale dispenses the lube over his fingers. In the blue light of the room, Rayner's body is a landscape not unlike the beauty outside their window. Instead of the jagged edge of the mountain crop though, he's made of smooth curves. The valley of his spine, the hill of his ass. Hale slides a hand along that geography before dipping his fingers lower, watching Rayner's mouth open around an unspoken exclamation.

He tries to be gentle. Only stroking and caressing at first before applying pressure. There's some resistance but not too much. His finger slides up to the second knuckle. Rayner's fists clench in the towel beneath him.

Hale finds he has a distinct advantage because he can read Rayner's body like it's a spoken language. When he feels pain, when he's relaxed enough, when he's ready for more, Hale's data streams are attenuated to every clenched muscle. He finds a rhythm and plays Rayner like a finely tuned instrument, searching for the chords that will make him sing. He adds another finger only when Rayner's back is arched, begging in every way except out loud.

It is still far from easy, even with the advantage of his data streams, because Rayner seems to tamp down on any vocal noise. Biting his lip, turning his face into the duvet. His ribs still inflate with the sounds he would make if he let himself.

He finally says, "Hale, please."

Hale can't refuse. Rayner's voice undoes his resolve. Sitting up, he dispenses a liberal amount of lubricant over his length. Rayner props himself up on his knees, but Hale grabs him by his hips and coaxes him to turn over instead. Gaze hooded, expression both keen and a little self-conscious, Rayner turns onto his back, thighs spread with Hale between them, and—

This is it, Hale thinks. Rayner positions himself so that all Hale would have to do is give a sharp thrust of his hips. There's nothing to stop him.

He doesn't though. He only presses in an inch at a time. Rayner's mouth opens. He tenses. The pressure and heat are incredible; even this is enough to make Hale's head spin. He drops his forehead against Rayner's chest and breathes.

"Good?" Rayner gasps.

Hale gathers himself, pulling back a bit. "An understatement."

He pushes in further, watching the expression of strain bloom into pleasure on Rayner's beatific features. Hale sinks into him until there's no space at all left. Until all he can feel is the hot place their bodies join.

Rayner arches into it, thighs girded around Hale's waist, though still maintaining a clamped control of his voice, all but mute except for his heady breathing. Both his hands dig into Hale's back, trying to drag him closer. In a fit of inspiration, Hale takes both wrists and pins them above Rayner's head. It turns Rayner on, he realizes. When Hale takes charge a little, Rayner gets harder.

Experimentally, Hale rolls his hips just once and revels in the moan that Rayner tries to muffle by turning his face into the sheets.

"Please," he whispers.

"Please?"

Rayner sucks his lips between his teeth as if to hide the words behind them, but Hale gives his hips a teasing twitch and watches the resistance melt.

"Please, do that again."

Hale isn't cruel. He obliges, moving slowly at first. It's enough to see stars. He keeps his fingers laced through Rayner's, holding him down and holding on for dear life. Rayner's hips buck up. A balloon of tension in his chest releases with a gusty exhaled moan. Sometimes those moans become words. Yes. And, like that. Or just Hale's name, uttered like a plea.

Hale searches for the rhythm that brings out more of those sounds. Painfully slow if the urgent writhing beneath him is any indication, but Hale still has to keep a handle on his own pleasure, which spikes and glows, hot and dangerous. He knew it would feel good but not this good. He didn't know how painfully erotic it would be to watch Rayner—usually so reserved and composed—lose control because of him. Rayner keens. Hale sucks a pink mark against his throat and feels the vibration against his tongue. Wrapped up in each other, clashing like two storm fronts, he can't remember anything but this. The only point of focus is Rayner's body arced like a bow, head thrown back as he cries out that he's close.

Hale is too. Too close. He releases one of Rayner's hands and reaches between them to stroke Rayner's cock. All the sounds Rayner can't stifle quiver on the way out. Their bodies are two tectonic plates and the space between them is a quaking fault line. Rayner's freed hand claps against Hale's shoulder, fingernails digging in.

The motions that started slow and exploratory become plundering and frantic. Hale abandons restraining Rayner at all to cup the back of his head, to watch his eyes roll back and close. Rayner shudders and a desperate sound of release bursts from his lungs as he comes into Hale's hand. Rayner's grip on Hale's shoulders slackens. All of him slackens, a warm torrent of pleasure rendering him limp.

Hale's vision spots in a manner now familiar to him, the pleasure overwhelming, and there's no reason to hold back now. A ragged noise of ecstasy rakes his lungs. His climax is a flood, Rayner the buoy to which he clings.

It leaves him too shaky to hold himself aloft. He tries to roll to the side, but Rayner stops him with both legs coiled around his hips. So he collapses into Rayner's waiting arms. The bed is soft and absorbs some of Hale's weight. Rayner's chest rises and falls in quick, panting breaths. Hale's head, cushioned there, rises with it.

Fingertips trace idly up and down Hale's spine. Rayner's heart thumps under his cheek. It's a moment Hale bookmarks in time. A memory he'll replay..

When they've caught their breath, Hale braves a question. "Was that—"

"Hnnngghh," Rayner groans. There's an imitation of words in the sound somewhere. It sounds positive.

Hale finds his limbs wobble when he finally decides to sit up and pull the towel out from underneath them. He uses it to clean them both off before discarding it on the floor. After some reluctant movement on Rayner's part, Hale manages to pull the covers over them.

They curl up, spooned together, and it's a wonder, Hale thinks, how someone who was born and not designed could fit so perfectly in his arms.