Chapter 19 #2
Ash comes with the plate in his hand, his whole body locking up, his free hand white-knuckled on the counter, and by some miracle he holds onto the dish through the entire thing.
Cass follows him over a few thrusts later, groaning against the back of Ash's neck.
He reaches for the plug on the counter, working it back in after pulling out.
The sound Ash makes at the renewed fullness is somewhere between a sob and a thank-you.
Cass turns Ash around. Ash is boneless against the counter, wet, flushed, and trembling. His eyes are glazed but present, his whole face glowing with pleasure. Cass takes the plate from his hand, sets it in the rack, cups Ash's face, and places a kiss to his forehead.
"You held onto the plate," Cass says. "I'm impressed."
"I hate you," Ash says, but he's grinning, his hands on Cass' chest, leaning into him the way he leans into all of us.
"You love me," Cass teases before taking an apple off the counter and walking out.
Ash stands at the sink for about a minute, dishwater soaking into his skin, his legs negotiating their continued participation. Then he pushes himself upright and walks past me toward the bathroom on unsteady feet, the plug visible between his thighs with every step.
God, he’s fucking beautiful.
I follow him. I turn on the shower and let the water get hot as he steps under the spray and leans against the tile, closing his eyes while something in his shoulders loosens. I strip off my shirt and jeans, before stepping in behind him. He doesn't startle, just leans back into my chest.
I start with his shoulders, working in slow circles, thumbs pressing into the knots that have built up along the tops of his muscles.
He groans and tips his head forward as I dig in harder and feel the tension break apart under my hands.
I work down his back, slowly, following the line of his spine, careful around the bruises on his ribs where we’ve all been holding onto him.
The soap runs in white trails down his skin as he makes small sounds under my hands, just the grateful noises of a sore body being tended to.
"Tip your head back," I tell him
Ash does, his eyes still closed, trusting me.
I wet his hair under the spray and work shampoo through it, scratching gently at his scalp with my fingertips, and the sound he makes is closer to a purr than anything I've heard from a human.
His whole body sways toward me, his hands loose at his sides.
He's given himself over completely to being handled, no tension, no guarding, just this total surrender I can’t help but want more of.
I work the shampoo from his forehead to the nape of his neck, getting into the curls that form behind his ears when they're wet.
I rinse him off slowly, tipping his head back, shielding his eyes with my palm while the water runs the suds down his back, off his shoulders, into the drain.
His eyelashes are dark and wet against his cheeks, his lips parted.
He looks half-asleep and entirely content.
I soap my hands again and wash his chest, moving over his collarbones and down his ribs and across his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under my fingers. He steadies himself against the tile with his other hand, looking down at me with an expression so soft and bewildered it makes my chest hurt.
Keeping the same pace, I clean him out carefully, keeping my touch functional and my eyes on his face to make sure he's okay. He tenses briefly, then relaxes, breathing through it.
"Teague," he murmurs, eyes still closed, his head heavy in my hand.
"Yeah, Sunshine."
"This is the strangest week of my life."
"Strangest good or strangest bad?" I stand back up, content to just hold him against my chest as the hot water runs over us.
"Strangest like I don't know how I'm going to go back to being a normal person after this.
" He turns around and blinks up at me through the water, hair plastered to his forehead, and his cheeks go pink even though we're well past the point where blushing makes sense.
"Is that a weird thing to say to a man who just watched his brother fuck me over a sink? "
"Nothing you say to me is weird, Sunshine. Especially not that."
He's quiet, his fingers tracing a slow absent pattern on my sternum. "You're different from them," he says. "From Cass and Ledger. Even from your dad."
"Better looking, obviously."
"Softer." He glances up and then back down, embarrassed. "Not soft. That's not what I mean. Just, when you touch me it feels like you're checking on me at the same time."
I don't have a response for that so I tip his chin up and kiss him instead. He sighs against my mouth as his hands flatten on my chest and his body softens against mine.
I turn off the water, grab the towel from the hook, and wrap it around his shoulders.
I take a smaller towel and squeeze the water from his hair section by section the way I've watched him do it himself, pressing instead of rubbing because his curls are delicate when they're wet and rubbing turns them to frizz.
He watches me do this with an expression of quiet surprise, like he didn't expect me to know that about his hair.
"How did you know to do that?" he asks.
"I pay attention."
I toss the towel over the rack and reach for the lube on the shelf.
He sees it, takes a breath, and then turns around without being asked.
His forearms brace against the tile. I warm the lube between my fingers and ease two of them into him, Ash hissing through his teeth at the tenderness.
I work him open just enough, gently, reading the tension in his back, the sounds he makes, adjusting my pace to match.
When his body is soft and relaxed around my fingers I reach for the plug and press it against him.
"Breathe for me," I say as I push the plug in slowly, easing the widest part past the resistance. His forehead drops against his forearms, a low shuddering sound escaping him as his body closes around it.
"Color?" I ask, one hand resting on his lower back.
"Green." He stays there for a moment, forehead on his arms, letting his body settle around the fullness. When he turns around, his face is flushed even a deeper red. He runs his hand through my wet hair. "Very green."
I kiss his forehead and open the bathroom door. "Go on, Sunshine. Day's just getting started."
He squares his bare shoulders and walks out into the hallway, before letting myself dwell on the way he said ‘softer’ like he'd found something precious and wasn't sure he was allowed to keep it.