Chapter 31 Close Contact
Close Contact
A Steamy Situation with Nash & Brewer
The shower's already running when Nash steps into the bathroom, steam curling around the edges of the curtain like an invitation. Brewer’s inside, head bowed under the spray, water trailing down the long lines of his back.
Nash doesn’t knock. Doesn’t need to. They’ve been in sync like this for a while now, slipping into shared spaces like they’re meant to be there.
He peels off his clothes, pushes the curtain back, and steps in behind him. Brewer glances back, eyes hooded under wet lashes, and moves aside just enough to make room.
Nash slides in, bare skin meeting heat and humidity and Brewer’s familiar gravity. He wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his chest to Brewer’s back, and exhales.
There’s no rush. No words at first.
Just the slow drag of soap over skin, hands lingering longer than necessary. Nash presses a kiss to the back of Brewer’s neck and feels him shiver and he turns to face Nash, chest to chest.
Brewer leans into him, breath hitching when Nash’s hand slides lower, stroking them both with slow, aching precision until they’re flush, joined in a way that’s as intimate as it is intense.
He keeps his movements unhurried. Their foreheads press together, eyes fluttering shut.
Every breath shared, every movement deliberate.
Water trickles between them, over them, but it’s the slick heat between their bodies that really drowns everything else out.
“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” Nash murmurs, voice rough.
Brewer’s answer is a low groan and a grinding shift of his hips.
They move together in silence, steam ghosting off the tiles, until they’re both shaking, held up only by each other and the trembling grip on slick skin.
Nash slides back his foreskin, revealing a fat purple head.
Brewer mimics him, unsheathing his smooth pink crown, and slides it against Nash’s, like a slippery kiss.
Brewer slides his skin over Nash’s head, enveloping him in slick warmth.
His gasp echoes off the walls. His slow strokes encompass both his shaft and Nash’s.
One long fluid stroke of pure pleasure that makes Nash’s breath come faster, shallower.
Brewer increases his pace, working them faster until Nash braces his hand on the wall for support.
The fire in his bright blue eyes burns Brewer.
He takes Nash’s lips and swallows his cry as Nash spills in his fist. Brewer follows with a shout and peels back his skin, sliding away from Nash’s now softening cock.
When it’s over, they don’t move apart. They stand there, breathing hard, letting the water wash over them like it might rinse away how much they need.
Eventually, Brewer turns in his arms, kisses him slow, and says against his mouth, “Next time, warn me before you ambush me in the shower.”
Nash chuckles, thumb brushing Brewer’s jaw. “You didn’t exactly resist.”
Brewer shrugs, lips curving. “Didn’t want to.”
They stay under the water until it runs cool, but their kisses are plenty hot.
They don’t rush to dry off.
Brewer’s back is warm against the side of Nash’s chest, both of them wrapped in damp towels, legs tangled on the edge of the bed like they half-fell there and never bothered to fix it. The room smells like soap and heat.
Nash’s fingers trace lazy circles on Brewer’s ribs.
“Y’know,” Nash murmurs, “you always go quiet after.”
Brewer huffs, more breath than laugh. “Not everything needs commentary.”
“No,” Nash says, voice soft, “but some things need saying.”
Brewer goes still. Not stiff, just thoughtful, like he’s turning something over carefully in his mouth before deciding whether to say it out loud.
He finally exhales. “I used to think intimacy meant… pretending. Like I had to perform closeness, instead of actually feel it. Keep it surface-level. Safe. Nothing sharp enough to leave a mark.”
Nash doesn’t interrupt. Just listens.
Brewer swallows. “But with you... it’s like I forget to put the armor back on. And that scares the shit out of me.”
Nash leans in and kisses the back of his neck. “Scared’s okay. Means it matters.”
Brewer closes his eyes.
“I’m not used to being wanted without a reason,” he admits, quieter now. “Not for a job. Not for something I can fix. Just... me. As I am.”
“You ever think maybe you are the reason?” Nash says softly. “Not the skills, not the past, not the patchwork of pain—you.”
Brewer doesn’t answer right away. His hand reaches down and threads through Nash’s, gripping it tight, grounding.
“I’m trying,” he says.
“I know,” Nash whispers. “And I’m not going anywhere.”