A/N: So, so long. I'll explain my disappearance at the end of the chapter but if you're still here, and you've been waiting for the past month or so, I'll have you know that I am honored. This is also the longest chapter of steam I've ever written, period, so I hope you enjoy it. Absolutely r e c o r d-breaking HAHAHA. 

I hope it's worth the wait. I also suggest to read chapter 43 again since it's been some time but if you'd like to get straight to the steamy shit, well then. Here you are, dinner is served. Enjoy. 

Edit: I wrote part of the A/N on Instagram first because it's 12AM here and I'm ready to knock out HAHAHAHA. If you'd like to read it, please send me a request at hisangelchip on IG!

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[Leroy]

I look at his neck a lot.

He doesn't know, but he hides that area a lot; neck, shoulders—all the way down to his collarbone and the top of his chest. I think its unconscious. It's the reason he'd always liked his top button done on dress shirts and otherwise, wore turtlenecks pretty much all-year round.

We never had the chance to spend a summer together yet, and I used to wonder how he'd look like. What he'd wear. Things like that would play around in my head from time to time and subconsciously show in my gaze. So I look at his neck a lot.

Even googled about this once; why the fuck I couldn't take my eyes off that part of him and if there was something up with my preferences. Google said no. The places you cover up start becoming more sensitive over time from the lack of touch or exposure; that and people somehow end up dressing to flaunt the parts they like and hide the ones they don't. So being insecure about that part makes them feel even better when someone else finds it hot. Then, boom—sensitivity.

Made sense to me. Kinda.

Plus, I factored in the primary-secondary-tertiary source thing he taught me way back and did proper research. Still, there was going to be a limit to my imagination; eventually, it only went so far and having the real thing right before my eyes was, hands down, the better experience. Tenfold.

He'd said something about using the shower first and asked if I could wait outside, give him a couple of minutes on his own before I join. Him. There was something in his voice that gave the nerves away despite the confidence in his words. That, and the little waves in his eyes picking up with the wind. All I could think was wow.

The quilt he'd used to cover up—bundled like a ball of snow—had slipped off his shoulders and given me the view that would probably live in my head, rent-free, for a very long time. It was cute how he waited for me to turn around before shuffling out of the bed and leaving the comfort of that quilt for the bathroom.

By the time I heard the door close behind him and turned around, I saw on the edge of the bed a bathrobe. Perfectly folded, neat and tucked with no loose shit hanging around and stacked on top of that, his underwear folded into a square. White.

I paused for a sec, piecing things together and somehow arriving at the conclusion of him needing the extra minute because of prep and instantly checked the bedside drawer for the goods. Okay. None.

In my head, this was practically the repeat of our first dinner after those years apart and while the upside included me being wide awake and horny as fuck, I was aware of everything else missing from the equation.

"Leroy?"

His voice came from behind the door to the bathroom and it sounded soft. Hesitant. Like he wasn't sure if I was going to be there. I was, anyway. He'd cracked open the door just enough to peer past it and the gap provided a preview to what was about to be the rest of the night.

His eyelids fluttered—gaze shifting away from my eyes down to my pants, back up to my torso, and back down to my pants. "You... you can come in, now."

He held the door open, retreating behind it while I stepped in and felt the chilled surface of the floor under my feet. The air was warm and wet from the shower he'd been running. It smelled of lavender and something else. Faintly sweet.

"I could run a bath too, if you'd like," he started closing the door behind me. "There's a bottle of, um, bubble bath in the..." His sentence cut short as I leaned over to hold the door open, hand over his.

"I need to know this isn't the wine," I told him, pressed against his back for a firm grip on the door handle.

He shivered at the contact. "That's... silly. Absurd. I've... you don't need to worry about that. I am capable of thinking."

"I just don't want you to wake up regretting this," I sighed, sliding my other hand across the front of his waist, sinking into the free, unrestricted view of his nape. Wet.

He glanced over his shoulder. Tentative. "Wh... why would I? 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.

I let him know the truth.

"I can't promise I'll stop even if you tell me to."

It was both the words and pulling him close by the hip that had him getting my point. Past that line, I'd struggle backing out of his invitation and though I was aware about 'all the way' being off the menu for the night, I couldn't promise anything else.

His ears were on fire and that was all I could see for a good long pause before he went ahead with pushing the door shut completely.

I leaned in, taking his hand in mine and guiding his fingers past the band of my pants. Further down. He gasped when I wrapped his hand around my shaft and I kissed him quiet, reaching up to stroke the back of his neck. It eased him into a nice rhythm of skin and taste with top notes that were bold like wine and beneath that, shy of something sweet. 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, 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 but it wasn't like I could prevent any of that from happening.

Whispers. "Leroy," he broke off to catch his breath, surprised and struggling to keep up. I slowed down, re-directing 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 walls, sinking into the steam. Lasting.

We hit the shower room only because he was dripping wet, prime condition for catching a cold. I turned it on at the same angle he'd switched it off, searching his gaze for a wave check. He flinched as soon as the water hit the top of our heads and stumbled a little. I held him up.

"Your pants..." his breathing was shallow. I looked down, distracted by his whispers. Forgot about that.

I reached for the band of my pants but felt his fingers brushing my wrist. Out of curiosity, I slowed to a stop and watched. He tugged at the band—just the tips of his fingers, both hands—pulling on the material that was wet.

It refused to budge. Between my pants that were soaked and the cosmic... obstacle... in it, he'd have a hard time. True enough, he did. I nearly laughed, musing over the mild alarm on his face that gradually had him reduced to a whine. It was funny, the look on his face.

"I'll do it." "Th—it's not..." "Yeah, it's wet." "Yes, I, I know that, but it's just..." I pulled it out 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.

He looked up at me. Then back down at it. "Heavens."

"Wanna back out?" I laughed and he gave me a look that had indignance written all over.

"No." He 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 abilities in the presence of one another." His fingers grazed my length. Thumbing over the tip. Bold for a bit. "B-besides. I've... been..."

I pulled him closer; eyes closed, water running down our sides and his fingers, just, barely touching. Brushing. Teasing. He was looking at me when I opened my eyes, staring curiously. Carefully. Like this was science and he was observing. Taking notes.

"Been?" "Practicing. I mean... studying. A-and thinking. And waiting." He looked away, fingers tentative all of a sudden. I laughed, taking both his hands and guiding them upwards to rest on my shoulders.

"You're saying you know exactly what you're doing?" I lifted his entire frame while he was distracted, pressing his back up against the glass. He struggled a little with his legs apart, scrambling to hide and bring his thighs back together; I stood and watched him do the impossible. Musing a little.

"Absolutely. I... of course I... with a little research, anyone could... would... Leroy, this—this position, thing. I don't it's... I can't put my legs together, let alone stand up straight." He seemed confused.

"...that's the point."

He must have noticed the curve of my lips because the next thing I knew, his ears were a nice shade of red and one of his hands, he'd balled into a fist for a gentle thump on my chest.

"You—!" "That's what you get for teasing me." "But, th—that was not the... well, yes maybe it was, but I hadn't even... I wasn't even done with it."

This surprised me. I found myself laughing into his neck, reaching for some shower gel and running that down the front of his torso. "There was more?"

"S... supposedly," he paused to chew on his lip, gathering his thoughts and shifting his legs for a better hold on my waist. "I've done my fair share of reading. And watching. Just so you know."

"Okay expert." "Yes! Yes I am. Quite. Maybe. A... a little." His breath hitched at my hand that wandered low, wrapping around his shaft and running the base of my thumb over the underside of his tip. He shivered. "Are... are you sure I'm, not, too... heav—!"

I kissed him quiet, appreciating the muted sounds he was making; soft from pleasure. Hearing it was an addiction. He had me hooked.

Most of his weight was supported by the glass wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. I had a hand under his upper thigh for additional support and with his legs firmly crossed behind my waist, skin against skin, there really wasn't an issue with holding him up.

"Mnh... ore..." His lips were parted and maybe it was his tongue that was numb or this was just him weak from the kiss but his words started to make little sense. "Mhlee... se."

Our eyes were levelled at the height I was holding him up. It provided the perfect view of him and everything else; whatever I was doing, he liked it. His fingers had a grip on my shoulders but as he was getting comfortable with the kiss, they'd somehow moved up and out—locked behind my head with his forearms resting on my shoulders instead.

"You're really... close." He seemed to note; eyelids fluttering, gaze going down to my chest and back up to meet mine, a stray lock of wet hair getting slightly in the way.

"You say that like it's our first time," I tucked his hair away, ensuring a clear view of his face before bracing both hands on the sides of his hips for a firm grip.

And grinding once.

Because we were levelled, it was an easy set-up for friction that wasn't just hands. He squirmed just from that bit 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 he keened, back flinching and leaning into the contact for more. "H—what—"

"Science." I thrusted again. The movement resembled actual fucking. "Thought you were the expert." There was a bunch of nerves right under the head of every shaft that made it extremely sensitive the less often it was stimulated. I figured he'd fall under that category. Helps that I liked it too.

"I... that," he nearly whimpered. "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, I-I meant. Your phal—" "My cock." "Y—n—that. Fine," he said the last part under his breath like this was a vocabulary debate and he'd just admitted defeat to save himself from never-ending embarrassment. "Why is it so hot?"

"...body heat?" I offered out of common sense. "Can't tell. You're hot too."

I glanced down to take things in. There's 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. He was slim, narrow at the waist. Inviting.

The view had me lost for a good minute or two and in that time, 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 low.

"W-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.

"...fuck." Should've known.

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 in just that look when I saw the effects of my teasing. The edging.

I brushed my cock against his and it made him go dizzy with pleasure, arms sliding back over my shoulders and leaning into the contact. Didn't even have to use my hands.

"Hold tight."

"Wh—"

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 didn't exactly think highly of it either. Not anymore though.

Might have to do with the position we were in or the fact that we were in the shower, up against the glass after a surprising tease from his end and the urge to see him undone. Something about leaving my hands out of the equation made things a little more exciting than an ordinary hand job; watching this bit of intimacy send him into overdrive, too, felt like maximum satisfaction.

I went for his neck while he was distracted, hands braced against his upper thighs sliding upwards. The combination of all this, accumulated over the past couple of minutes, seemed a little much for his head to put together, let alone think and speak.

His frame trembled in my arms while I had my way with his neck and leaving a nice little mark on the base of it, right above his collarbone, provoked a whimper that sounded almost like a plea. I obliged by bumping up the pace.

It all happened pretty quick; next thing I knew, his back was arched and the movement, in the process of shifting, had the head of my shaft brushing against the most sensitive part of his ass. His response was immediate: a flustered cry—so sweet I could have tasted on my tongue.

The bathroom had every sound amped up a notch and whatever it was he just did went straight to my cock. Mostly in surprise.

I paused, staring openly and losing it for a sec before it all clicked. He'd been practicing with that. There was no way he'd be feeling the high of having something hard graze his hole without prior training or stimulation. His thighs were on the verge of giving out—I felt them tense at the contact and in the next instant, melt—coming close.

I was too far gone, taken, by that cry of his to register the present: his actual, current needs from being close to climax. I'd come to a stop just for the view. Hands and all.

Cutting off movement out of the blue had him a little confused and the light in his half-lidded eyes shifted to my lips for a fraction of a second.

"...Leroy?" He managed softly after recovering from the daze of having been edged. "Just now... sorry, did I..." There was a short struggle to meet my gaze after I'd left him hanging. Then a couple of rapid blinks while gathering his thoughts.

I snapped out of it. "That was on me. Not you. I blanked out hearing..." Just closing my eyes was enough to relive the moment; sounds and all. "Fuck you're so cute."

His lips actually formed a small pout. Rare. Very rare. It didn't take him very long to get embarrassed and hide over my shoulder by leaning close—arms going round my neck and holding on while I massaged the area above his hips. "Well, then... do something about it."

"You started it." "Nh—! No no, you did." "You fucking teased my cock, Vanilla." "All I did was... was... well it wasn't deliberate!" "You just admitted it minutes ago that it was, dumbass." "Y—n, but, I wasn't expecting you to... tease me back. Unobjectively speaking, it's. It's unfair, is what it is."

I laughed low. Enjoying the moment. "Can't stand a little payback?"

He raised his head, gaze fixed on my lips and eyes still a little drunk with pleasure. "Well. Maybe you..." he trailed off with a smile on his lips that was almost unnoticeable. "Just have some room for improvement."

I paused, raising a brow but musing all the same. "A challenge."

"No, you idiot," he was back at hiding in my neck and all I could hear was the blush in his voice, reduced to a whisper. "...an invitation."

It felt like the flip of a switch.

I lowered one of his legs to the floor and he tiptoed, holding on to my shoulders still while I killed the shower with my free hand and then picked him up again. He seemed a little worried and confused, gaze following my hands but still in a daze.

"A-are we stopping?" His hands locked up behind my back, as though afraid I was about to cut things short and end the night. Instead, I headed for the tub.

It wasn't filled but there was no rush; I set him down with his feet towards the faucet before turning it on and adjusting the temperature. He stared up at me with his legs curled. "If it's a bath, I've already taken one. I promise I'm clean, so..."

I looked at him. "...this one's for fucking."

His reaction was a guaranteed malfunction which I'd expected and observed as part of my personal enjoyment. The bathroom went completely silent save the sound of running water gushing into the tub. It was filling up at a steady rate.

"O-oh."

Was all he ended up saying, gaze lowering to the water and only then, easing into it; tensed shoulders relaxing. Fucking hell was he cute. To be fair, he wasn't exactly sober the entire evening and I'm guessing all present honesty and eagerness had to do with his visit to the bar. This was my cue to look out for him in spite of whatever he said about being clear-headed as day; 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.

So I told him: "Not the real thing though." And handed over a small complementary bottle of bubble bath.

He received it like a baby looking at a rattle, both hands cupping around it. I slid into the tub right after, taking the backseat while he was distracted. "Wh—not the real thing...? But... why not?"

I leaned in, pressing my chest against his back and snaking my arms around the front of his waist. Angled my head to rest my chin on the nook of his neck; taking in his scent.

"That's for when you're sober." "But Leroy, I already... nha—!" I kissed his nape. "I mean to say that... I told you. That I was. And frankly, three glasses of wine isn't very much to begin with and I'm quite sure you even finished a third of my last. I'm fine. Really."

He said all this while I was leaving a trail of kisses down his nape, squirming a little at the spots that were sensitive. It was his ears next. And a little lower down the front of his waist; fingers just tracing his skin. Up and down.

Outside of the shower room, every sound seemed to have a little more 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.

My 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 length between the gap in his thighs.

It was the friction that caused him to flinch. He had a spot on his inner thighs that ached with sensitivity and I'd made sure to hit the mark.

His startled jump had the bathwater around us splashing a little. And because the tub was barely a quarter filled, most of everything was well within our field of vision. Clear as day. His knees buckled almost immediately and had I not been holding them together, would have returned to their standard distance apart.

"Leroy...? Wh—why's..."

I felt the muscles around his hole tense and flinch above the base of my cock. With how we were seated and positioned, the full-on contact was unavoidable. And partly intentional.

"Someone's really sensitive today. Right here," I reached down and under, index brushing his entrance. He cut off a gasp by biting down on his lip, legs squirming. "Why?"

"Th—at's just, un...true. Untrue. I'm not..." Hiding something.

He tried to put the bottle of bubble bath away to free up his hands but I kept it there, wrapping my fingers around his and holding them in place. My other carried on with the teasing, circling his hole that was now underwater.

"Not gonna tell me?"

His mind was elsewhere. "Leroy my hands... let go, I need to put this away..."

"You're supposed to be taking care of the bath."

"I..." His breath hitched. I had my index easing in slow, biding time. "O-okay. Fine."

I watched over his shoulder; him doing his best to uncap the bottle with trembling fingers and then pouring some over his hands in a mess, lowering it into the water. "Good god. Sorry, I think I... poured a... a little too much by accident."

"You did good." I told him, easing my finger a little deeper and recalling the approximate spot I last had my way with, back in his apartment.

Inside him was incredibly soft. Relaxed, even. As though he'd been stretching himself out on the daily, prepping for something. The something was me. I asked.

He wasn't in the state to respond.

"Feels—I... Leroy..."

I laughed low, easing in a second finger and hitting the very spot he liked. "Good?"

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, pretty much rent free. He was nodding. Dazed and drunk on pleasure but nodding.

The water was now slightly above waist level, obscuring 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.

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.

"...teasing, me... again? H—are... you?"

I was playing with his ass, sure, but it wasn't part of my intention to edge him three times in a row just to teach him a lesson. I pulled back, then snapped my hips in and up between his thighs again; fingers stroking harder against his sweet spot.

He whimpered, one hand reaching up and behind him in search for me. I leaned into his touch; his fingers brushing my nape and attempting, trying to hold on while I rocked and pleasured.

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

I made him ask for it.

Something in me wanted to hear, to see that part of him but turns out, saying just that was enough to drive him over the edge and lose all control. Naturally, I wasn't expecting a premature release.

Apparently, he wasn't either. He'd shivered for a sec and arched his back in his high, hips locked in that position for a good moment before recovering. Amidst open-mouthed pants and blank pauses, he even tried to apologize for it—neck-deep in embarrassment for coming in the bath. He didn't even know how to word it. Just, "good god I'm so sorry" "that was incredibly rude" "I'm so very sorry."

"Just now, I, for some reason, I... felt... felt oddly... l-like I was..."

He couldn't put it in words but I made a guess at the combination of edging and overstimulation—all crimes of yours truly. Living up to the name of a criminal, as usual. Nothing new.

I asked if he could stand.

Dazed and only partly attentive, he hummed a nod and I helped him up. No surprises, his natural assumption was that we were done and this was me helping him out of the tub but as soon as he lifted a leg to step out, I held him back.

"Never said that was it."

He looked at me over his shoulder. Mildly confused. "Wh—ah." His gaze lowered, resting on my cock at its best. I gave him the benefit of doubt; he'd had a long day and three glasses of wine. This was his first time forgetting his partner's needs anyway and I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it.

Or maybe I was.

"Bend over." "Nh—?? Leroy—" "Hold onto this." 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 did not take me long to enjoy the view.

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.

I eased in, grazing his hole for a little extra contact before lining up skin to skin. I raised his hips to accommodate my height and length, already feeling the first spikes of pleasure and anticipation from the initial thrust.

He held back a sound of surprise. I realized he was tip-toeing, partly to compromise the additional lift I needed. Otherwise, it felt like he was trying to close the distance between us himself and I wasn't too sure how else I should be feeling about that except fuck. Just that.

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. Sparks. Spikes going down my front and building up.

"Vanilla."

He was flinching, shuddering, eyes half-lidded when he turned at his name—every word laced with something dangerous. "Leroy, I—haa, can't hold...—!"

He came a second time, and it was his attempt to contain another one of those sweet sounds that had me following; releasing the load that had built up.

It'd been a couple of weeks. A very long time for my standards.

I reached down for his hands and pulled him into my arms, allowing him as much support as he liked and kisses on the forehead. He obliged; spent. Panting into my neck with his eyes closed. "...I stand... corrected."

"Flattered, Mr. White." "Mm... not for long, I believe." "We'll see next time." His laugh was quiet. Content. "Behold, an idiot."