The bathroom light spills warm against the cool tile. I twist the handle until steam curls up from the glass door, blurring our reflections in the mirror. Todd steps in behind me, close enough that his chest presses against my back. His hands slide around my waist, fingertips finding skin beneath the hem of my shirt.
The contact sends chills down my spine. I had thought I lost this.
For a second, I just stand there, eyes closed, breathing him in. Sweat, that distinct scent that clings to you from the ice rink, and something that’s only him.
He murmurs near my ear, “You gonna get in, or are we just gonna stand here and fog up the mirror?”
“Patience,” I mutter, peeling my shirt over my head. “I thought I was the impatient one.”
“You are.” He grins, taking his time doing the same, like he’s daring me to look away first.
When we step under the spray, it’s almost too hot, the kind that burns before it soothes. Todd tilts his head back, water tracing down his throat. I reach for the soap, and he catches my wrist.
“Let me,” he says, voice quiet.
He lathers the soap in his hands, then runs them over my shoulders, down my arms—slow and steady, like he’s learning me again. Every pass of his palms feels like he’s washing away the weeks of silence between us.
I close my eyes and let him, loving the feel of him touching me. The steam wraps around us, the water pounding steady against my back, and for a few minutes, the world shrinks to this: warmth, skin, and the faint sound of his breath mixing with mine.
When I finally look at him, his lashes are wet, his cheeks pink from the heat. He’s smiling, small and real.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Getting there,” I say, reaching for him in return.
He lets me pull him close until our foreheads touch again, both of us slick with water, our fingers laced.
“Good,” he whispers. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere this time.”
The water beats against my shoulders, steady and rhythmic. Todd’s still close enough that every breath I take has our chests brushing. His hands slide up my sides and over myribcage, fingertips tracing the faint scar beneath my collarbone.
When I look down, his eyes are already on me—blue and open in a way that knocks the air right out of my lungs. The weeks of silence, of distance, are still there in the space between us, but they’re thinning. Dissolving.
I reach for him, palm skimming along his ribs, the slick heat of water gliding between us. He shivers. Not from the cold. From the same thing I’m feeling. Need. A need to be closer to make sure nothing can pull us apart again.
“God, I missed you,” I murmur as I press a kiss to his temple, then his cheek, the side of his mouth, and then I’m devouring him. The water runs down our faces, dripping from our lashes, salt and heat and forgiveness blending until I can’t tell where he ends and I start.
I groan against his lips when his fingers curl around our lengths, gripping them together and stroking. It is probably the best feeling in the entire fucking world.
“I missed you, too,” he whispers. Then he’s dropping to his knees in front of me. The sight has my knees going weak, so I lean back against the tile as I watch him.
The sight of him kneeling in front of me knocks every bit of air from my lungs. Steam curls around us, blurring the edges of everything but him—his flushed skin, the water sliding down his shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his breath.
“Hey,” I murmur, my hand sliding into his wet curls. “You don’t have to?—”
He looks up, water beading along his lashes, but it’s the quiet certainty in his eyes stops me cold.I want to,that look says.Let me.
The world narrows to touch and breath and the slicksound of water hitting tile. I’m shaking—partly from need, mostly from how much it means that he’s here, that he’s choosing this, choosingus.
“God, Todd,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
He smiles faintly, eyes still on mine. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
He swipes his tongue out, catching the water rolling down my hard length, and brushing over my slit. Then he curls his fingers around me and strokes at the same time he sucks my crown between his lips. My hips angle forward as he flattens his tongue and curls it over the sensitive underside of the head.
“Shit, that’s good.”
His hum in response nearly has my legs giving out. And it doesn’t help matters when he cups my balls and rolls them gently in his hand, before venturing further back. I am not going to last if he keeps this up.
