“Ssh,” I warn and bring my hand to his mouth.
He smiles around my fingers and I see his brown eyes spark to life. I take a brief moment to listen out for anybody else in the showers or close by, but I can’t make out any noise other than the shower spray and our rough breaths as I slide a hand down and grip our cocks together.
It’s impossible to wrap my hand the whole way around both of them but it’s enough. I think it’s enough.
“Can you hold this position?” I look down at his bent legs, his quads round and hard.
He nods against my hand.
“Good,” I say and I start to stroke us together. “We can call it resistance training.”
I’m right to keep my hand on his mouth because he moans into it, making the skin on my fingers vibrate.
“You like that?”
He nods again, with a lot more enthusiasm this time.
“You’re so big,” I say when I notice his fat head extends beyond mine, but I like it. It means I can run my fingers over the sensitive skin there and each time his eyelids flutter.
Marcello mumbles something in Italian that I’m sure wouldn’t be taught on Duolingo. At least not after a learning streak of several decades.
I’m so busy watching him, studying his reaction, feeling his lips move against the back of my fingers, that I’m almost surprised when I feel my balls tighten and an all too familiar tingling sensation light up the base of my spine.
It feels so good, so grounding, so right that I groan, arguably louder than Marcello did before I silenced him.
As if he’s in perfect agreement, I feel Marcello’s hand land on my mouth, shutting off the noise.
We stare at each other, each of our mouths covered by the other’s hand, and I continue to squeeze and stroke and play with our dicks. It could be my imagination but I think I can feel one of those wandering veins on his dick against mine and I look down, seeing our foreskins move over two very red, very swollen heads.
I hum out another satisfied noise and yet I’m far from satisfied. I’m itching to come, and to make Marcello come with me, or failing that before me.
Looking back up at him, I raise an eyebrow at him and I’m partly amazed, partly not at all surprised when he understands immediately. He gives me another enthusiastic nod and I watch his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallows.
His hands come round to grip my backside, pulling me closer to him, or maybe he’s holding on for dear life because his legs are starting to shake, and I realise how strenuous this is for him to do after not only leg day but also a two-mile run.
But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s throwing his head back, his breathing is shallow and fast, and I feel his dick harden in my grip.
“Yes, Marcello,” I mumble against his fingers and who knows if he understands. I doubt even without his hand muffling my voice, he would be aware of what I just said, because he’s grunting and thrusting andcoming. He’s coming all over my cock and I immediately scoop up the wet liquid and rub it all over the heads of our dicks, catching each following jet as it comes, still pumping my fist.
My forehead comes to rest against his and that contact takes my breath away almost as much as my orgasm does as it crashes into me, barely seconds after Marcello has stopped ejaculating.
I feel his eyes on me as I shudder through my climax, every muscle in me tensing then relaxing, tensing, relaxing, until I feel completely spent and floppy and like I’m the one about to collapse. And I do, almost. I fall forward onto Marcello’s chest and rest my head against his shoulder. He straightens up and his hands move to hold my body against him and I bring mine up to steady myself against the cubicle wall and yet they don’t quite make it. Instead, I end up gripping his upper arms to steady myself. Despite being pressed up close together, water manages to squeeze between our bodies and washes away the mess.
I don’t know how long we stay like that but it’s long enough for somebody else to make their presence known in the shower area. They’ve moved into the cubicle I recently occupied and they turn the spray on. Whoever it is starts humming a song I half-recognise but can’t name and the weird niggling urge to place it has me lifting my head up off Marcello’s chest.
“You okay?” He mouths down at me.
I nod and only manage to stop the smile that pulls at my lips when it’s already half there. “You?” I point at him.
He takes his hands off me to give me two very enthusiastic thumbs up, his smile completely unrestrained.
“That was a fun lesson,” he whispers, turning off the water.
It’s sobering, hearing what we just did described as a lesson, even though that’s how it started, howIstarted it. But it doesn’t completely crash my high. In fact, I still feel like I’m floating as I reach for his towel and hand it to him.
“You first,” he says and nods down at my towel which is a wet puddle near our feet.
I towel myself off and then hand it back to him before gingerly bending down to pick up the sodden material.
