I shower with the lights off, my eyes adjust quickly to the deep darkness and the water is hot enough to make the mirrors across from my shower steam and cloud and swirl, making my reflection nothing but a featureless specter in the night. The water beats against my back and I tilt my head back to soak my long locks till they melt against my skin, reaching past my hips. My body aches. My muscles are stiff. My skin is bruised. I can be satisfied, but never sated, and I feel the stirrings of desire rising up from my toes, climbing my thighs, beating in my chest; I can taste it on the back of my tongue.
A shadow falls over the doorway and the outline of your naked body obscures what little strange, natural light there was. Is it reactionary? Did you somehow sense that I needed you? What drew you here, to me, in the dark? I cannot see your beautiful eyes, but I can feel you staring at me, intently.
“Did I wake you?” I whisper.
“No… but you were gone.”
You do, wordlessly, coming to stand in front of me, your back to the water-warmed wall. I step back and brush my fingertips against yours, pulling you beneath the stream. My hands reach up into your hair and I massage your scalp gently as the water soaks it. You lean forward and my hands slide down your nape, stroking your back as you rest your forehead against my shoulder. I lean in closer, pressing my chest to yours, holding you to me.
Your lips move against my skin, trailing kisses from my clavicle to my throat, up the line of my jaw, and back down to my shoulder. I shudder beneath the hot water and close my eyes. My hands slide down to grip your hips and I nudge you gently until your back meets the tile, the line of my body follows, and I am pressing, rubbing, wiggling against you. With my eyes still closed one hand slides back through your hair and I pull your head up so that I can kiss you. My lips move gently at first, just barely grazing your own, and then I am overcome, my kiss turns urgent, tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth, hand at your hips curving inward to wrap around your stiff cock. My hand pumps against you until you groan into my mouth.
“May I please suck your dick, Sir?” I mumble against your lips, nipping and nibbling at them.
Your hips thrust forward and you growl out a raspy “you may” between clenched teeth.
I ease down to my knees and take your cock between my lips immediately. The salty taste of pre-cum meets my tongue and I moan softly before working my lips down your length, one hand positioned at the base of your dick while I get comfortable with you, your girth, in my mouth. I am hungry for you and it doesn’t take long before my hand slides away, til I can feel my lips reaching for your pelvis. You must turn the water on hater because my back grows warmer and I mewl and wiggle happily against you. Your hands pull at my hair beneath the stream and I can hear you groaning. Your thighs flex beneath my hands and I squeeze them in turn, tongue pressing and lapping and swirling against you. With every upstroke I suckle at the head of your cock, teasing the sensitive tip. Beneath the water I don’t care how messy I am, and I am drooling and gagging as your hips begin to thrust against my face.
You are saying my name, you are speaking strangled words of encouragement and pleasure. The words don’t matter, just that you are here with me, in the moment with me, pleased with me and by me. Your hands tighten in my hair and I can feel you, taste you, hear you.
When you cum, it is buried in the back of my throat, your hips making small thrusting circular motions, fucking my mouth, milking yourself against my lips. I suck you until there is no more left, drinking you, licking you clean.
When I stand again, on shaky knees, your face is slack with pleasure and I nestle in against you, content to be warmed by your body and the water.