Chapter 6
Mark
The bathroom is too warm by the time I switch on the shower.
Or maybe that is just me.
Philip lingers just inside the door while I adjust the temperature, jacket gone, looking around with that same wary amusement he seems to default to whenever life gets too strange.
I step back once the water is running.
“I had this pictured as significantly more romantic downstairs.”
Philip looks at me.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. In my head it was all effortless shared-shower seduction.”
“And in reality?”
I glance between him, the glass, and the alarming amount of clothing still involved.
“In reality there appears to be quite a lot of logistical admin.”
“Ah,” he says. “So this is less film montage and more health and safety briefing.”
“Exactly.”
His smile lingers another second before his gaze shifts towards the wet room.
The steam is starting to gather now.
So is the silence.
Because joking about it is one thing.
Actually getting undressed in front of each other is another.
Philip turns away first before bending to slip off his shoes.
By the time he straightens, the mirror has started to cloud at the edges.
His gaze catches mine in it.
Neither of us looks away.
I move in behind him.
Slowly.
Giving him every chance to tell me to stop.
He doesn’t.
My hands settle at the buttons of his shirt, brushing the warmth of his stomach beneath the parted fabric as I work them loose one by one.
His breath comes faster, shallow little bursts. The shirt parts, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the soft swell of his belly, the dark blond trail of hair that disappears into his trousers.
My fingers graze over his skin as I push the fabric apart, and he shudders, a full-body reaction that makes my cock twitch hard behind my fly.
“Mark,” he says, voice low.
“Yeah?”
“What are you—”
I press my lips to the side of his neck before he can finish. His skin’s warm, salty, and he tastes like sweat and that cologne, like something I want to sink my teeth into.
His pulse jumps against my mouth, and he makes a sound that goes straight to my dick.
My hands slide up, spreading over his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples.
They’re already hard, little peaks against my calloused skin, and when I pinch them, just lightly, he jerks forward with a sharp inhale.
My tongue flicks out, tasting the sweat beading at the base of his throat, and his head tips back against my shoulder. The angle’s perfect. It lets me see the way his eyelids flutter, the part of his lips, the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip like he’s trying to hold back.
I don’t let him.
My hand slides down, over the softness of his stomach, the waistband of his trousers.
His breath stutters when my fingers dip beneath the fabric, when I find the hot, heavy weight of his cock straining against his boxers.
He’s hard, thick, the head already damp with precum when I wrap my hand around him.
His hips jerk forward, helpless, and I stroke him once, slow, from root to tip.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, his hands slapping against the sink for balance. “Mark, I—”
I turn him around.
His back hits the door with a thud, and I crowd into his space, my body pinning him there.
His eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the hazel, his lips wet and parted.
I can see the pulse in his throat, the way his chest rises and falls too fast, the flush spreading down his neck, his chest. He’s so sexy like this.
I kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. His lips are soft, giving, and he opens for me immediately, tongue sliding against mine, hot and wet and fucking perfect. I groan into his mouth, my hands gripping his waist hard enough to bruise.
Philip’s hands are on the back of my head, his fingers digging into my scalp, nails scraping. He kisses me back just as hard, his teeth nipping at my lower lip, his tongue fucking into my mouth like he’s trying to crawl inside me.
I break the kiss just long enough to yank his shirt the rest of the way off, to toss it aside without caring where it lands.
His trousers are next, his belt clinking against the tile, my fingers fumbling in my haste.
He kicks off his socks, toes curling against the floor, and then I’m shoving his trousers and boxers down his thighs, dropping to my knees in front of him.
His cock springs free, thick and flushed, a bead of precum dripping from the slit. I don’t think. I just lean in and lick it off, my tongue swiping over the sensitive flesh. Philip hisses, his hands flying to my shoulders, fingers clamping down hard enough to hurt.
“Fuck—Mark—”
I take him into my mouth, shallow at first, just the head, my tongue working the underside. His taste floods my senses. Salt and musk and something uniquely him—and my own cock aches, trapped in my jeans. But this isn’t about me. Not yet.
Philip’s thighs tremble as I take him deeper, my lips sealing around the base of his shaft.
His hands are cupping the back of my head, twisting, pulling, like he can’t decide whether to push me away or drag me closer.
I hollow my cheeks, my throat opening as I take him to the root, and he makes a broken sound, his hips jerking forward.
“Gonna come,” he gasps, his voice raw. “Mark, I’m gonna—”
I pull off with a wet pop, my chin glistening.
“Not yet,” I tell him, standing up. My hands go to my own shirt, yanking it over my head, the fabric sticking to my damp skin.
Philip’s eyes rake over me, over the tattoos covering my chest, my arms, the way my muscles shift beneath the ink.
His gaze lingers on the bulge in my jeans, and he licks his lips, his own cock twitching like it’s begging for attention.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice rough.
I don’t argue.
My belt comes undone with a sharp snik, the leather sliding through the loops of my jeans.
Philip’s watching me like a man starved, his chest rising and falling fast, his fingers twitching at his sides like he’s itching to touch.
I kick off my trainers, then my jeans, my boxers, until I’m as naked as he is.
His eyes drop to my cock.
I’m hard as fuck, thick and heavy, the veins standing out along the shaft, the head dark red and leaking. Philip’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and then he’s on his knees in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs.
“Philip—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His mouth wraps around the head of my cock, his tongue swirling over the slit, and my hips jerk forward before I can stop them.
His lips seal around me, taking me deep, and the wet heat of his mouth is fucking incredible.
I groan, my hands flying to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft blond strands.
He works me slow at first, his tongue tracing every vein, every ridge, like he’s memorizing me.
Then his pace picks up, his head bobbing, his throat opening as he takes me deeper.
The sounds he makes—wet, obscene, hungry—go straight to my balls, and I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight at the base of my spine.
“Fuck, Philip, just like that—”
He pulls off with a filthy pop, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with lust. “Shower,” he pants. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
The water pounds down on us, rivulets streaming over my skin, over the ink, and Philip’s hands are everywhere—my chest, my stomach, my thighs—like he can’t decide where to touch first.
I turn around, my back hitting the cold tile, and then he’s on me.
His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue fucking past my lips, his teeth nipping, biting.
I groan into the kiss, my hands gripping his ass, pulling him flush against me.
Our cocks slide together, trapped between our bodies, the friction maddening, but not enough.
Philip’s nails are scraping over my scalp, and I can feel the way his body trembles, the way his breath comes in sharp, desperate gasps.
“Need you,” he pants against my lips. “Need—fuck—”
I huff a laugh, and my hands find his waist without conscious decision. His skin is slick beneath my palms, warmer than the water. I can feel the soft give of his belly, the way his breath catches when my thumbs trace the curve of his hips.
My cock hardens further, pressing against the soft skin below his navel. His own dick stirs against my thigh, thick and warm even in the heated spray. We stand there, breathing, the moment stretching like pulled sugar.
"Mark." My name in his mouth sounds different here. More vulnerable.
"Yeah."
He doesn't finish the thought. Instead, his hips shift. A small movement, barely a fraction of an inch, but it brings our cocks together. The contact sends a jolt through my spine. I grip his hips tighter, steadying us both, and feel his fingers dig into my shoulders in response.
The water streams between our bodies, slicking the area where we press together.
I rock forward, experimental, and watch his eyelids flutter.
The head of my dick drags along his shaft, the sensitive skin catching and sliding, and the sound that escapes me is raw—guttural.
Not something I'd let out in any other context.
"Fuck," Philip breathes. His hands slide up my shoulders, one threading over my shaved head. The sensation shoots straight to my groin.
I set a rhythm. Slow, deliberate, because I don’t want this to be over.
Each roll of my hips presses our cocks together from root to tip, the friction building in increments, the drag of skin on skin sending sparks up my spine.
Philip's dick is thick against mine, weeping pre-cum that mixes with the shower spray, and I can feel every ridge, every vein as we move together.
"Look at me," I command gently.
His eyes open, and for once there's no guard in them. Just heat, and something rawer—something that looks almost like fear. I recognize it because I've felt it too. The terror of wanting something you've convinced yourself you can't have.
I keep moving. My hips roll in a steady grind, our cocks trapped between our bellies, sliding and catching in a rhythm that turns my blood to fire.
The wet slap of skin against skin mixes with the shower's hiss, obscene and intimate.
Philip's breath comes faster now, puffing against my collarbone in sharp gasps.
His fingers tighten on my skull, and I feel the tremor running through his frame.
"This is—" he starts, voice cracking.
"I know." I slide my hands from his hips to the small of his back, pulling him closer. The angle changes, and the head of my cock catches beneath the ridge of his, sending a spike of pleasure through my gut. I groan, low and long, and feel him shudder in response.
The bathroom fills with steam and the sound of our breathing—harsh, ragged, perfectly synced.
I've had sex in showers before. Quick, functional, forgettable.
This is something else entirely. The way Philip's body fits against mine, the noises he makes when I grind just right, the way his cock throbs against my shaft.
It's like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.
"Harder," he says, and his voice is pure gravel.
I adjust my stance, planting my feet on the tiles, and obey.
Each thrust pushes our cocks together with more pressure, more friction, and the pleasure builds like a wave…
gathering, swelling, promising to break.
Philip meets me stroke for stroke, his hips rolling in counterpoint, and the sound our bodies make is wet and filthy and perfect.
His head drops forward, forehead pressing against my chest. I feel his goatee scrape against my tattoo, and the sharp contrast of that sensation makes my balls draw tight. I'm close.
"Philip." I tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Stay with me."
He rocks against me harder, faster, and his cock pulses against mine. The orgasm builds at the base of my spine, pressure and heat twisting into something that feels dangerously close to more than just physical release.
Philip bites my shoulder when he comes. Not hard but hard enough to push me over the edge as well. We spill all over each other before the water washes away what just happened.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The water pounds down, the steam swirls, and all I can hear is the ragged sound of our breathing.
Then, slow, I meet his gaze.
His eyes are dazed, his lips swollen, his body marked by me. I kiss him, slow and deep, my hands cradling his face, my thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.
“Wow,” I murmur against his lips.
Philip huffs a laugh, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Wow indeed.”
I hold him there, under the water, his body warm and pliant against mine. The steam wraps around us, the sound of the waves outside a distant rhythm, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to pull back.
I want to stay.