He whimpers, chasing the friction, grinding into my hand. The slick sounds between us make it dirtier, filthier, and I fucking love it. His cock slides against mine with every movement, tip to tip, leaking, throbbing, too sensitive already from before, but neither of us is stopping.
We move together like that, slow and messy and intimate, the room filled with soft sounds and heavy breathing. I can feel him getting close, the way his body tenses, the way his breath catches, and I tighten my arm around his back, keeping him grounded.
“Hey,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to his. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. If you come, just let it happen.”
He nods frantically, eyes glassy. “Don’t stop. Please.”
“I won’t,” I promise, and I keep the rhythm steady, coaxing instead of chasing. I keep stroking us, rocking up against him, our cocks sliding slick and hot.
When he finally tips over the edge, it’s quiet and intense, his release painting my chest in thick, hot ropes. The feel of him twitching against me is too much, and I follow not long after, the sight of him falling apart for me pushing me past my own control. I groan his name into his shoulder as it hits me, riding it out together until everything slows.
I don’t let go of him when it’s over. I keep my arms wrapped around his back, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles as he comes back to himself. His forehead drops to my shoulder, breath still shaky.
“Mien…” he laughs softly, exhausted and dazed. “I feel… wobbly.”
“That’s normal,” I say, kissing his hair. “Completely normal reaction, baby.”
I keep him close for a few minutes, just listening to our heartbeats even out, his soft breathing brushing my chest, my hand tracing up and down his spine. His hair is damp at the nape, clinging to his skin, and when I press another kiss there, he shivers, clinging tighter.
Eventually, though, the mess between us becomes impossible to ignore, sticky and cooling against our skin, and Noah makes a little embarrassed face that has me grinning.
“Come on,” I tip his chin up gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”
He mumbles something unintelligible but lets me roll out of bed first. I help him up, hands careful on his waist as he staggers to his feet, still a little dazed. The flush on his cheeks is high and soft, his eyes glassy with aftershocks, but he smiles at me.
I lace our fingers together, leading him to the en suite, flicking on the light. The brightness is too much for a second, and both of us squint as we step in. I pull him closer using the slip chain around his neck, the heart-shaped O-ring sliding tighter with the gentle tug until his breath catches. His lashes flutter as he looks up at me, lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just watches.
“Hmm,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along the edge of the choker, right where the chain cinches against the base of his throat. “I can’t wait to fully use this on you, Babygirl.”
His cheeks flush, the color creeping high along his cheekbones, and his thighs press a little closer together, probably already imagining how that would feel, or how far I’d take it. My smirk tugs sharply at the corner of my mouth, but I don’t push him—not yet.
Tonight was about him being brave, about him showing up and offering himself without being asked. I don’t want to takethat from him by rushing it, so I gently remove it from around his throat and place it on the bathroom counter.
I leave him standing in the middle of the room while I get the shower going, waiting until the temperature is perfect before I nudge him forward.
He hesitates, his eyes flicking to mine. “I’ve, uh… never done this with anyone before.”
My heart aches at how vulnerable he is with me. “Me neither,” I admit, stepping in first and holding out my hand. “Not counting the locker room. You trust me, Blue?”
Noah nods and takes my hand, stepping under the spray; his hair darkens instantly as the water slicks it down over his forehead. He tilts his head back, letting the warmth hit his face, his shoulders relaxing by degrees.
I shut the glass door behind us and just stand there a second, watching the water bead on his skin, the lines of his body soft and real in the steam. I reach for the body wash and lather it, then carefully start to wash him off—shoulders, chest, arms, every inch I can reach, massaging away the remnants of our night.
He lets me, eyes fluttering closed, breath catching when my hands are gentle around the places that are most sensitive. The fact that Noah—who has a slight touch aversion—is letting me wash him has my heart fucking bursting at the seams.
“Turn, baby,” I murmur, and he does, trusting me completely. I press kisses between his shoulder blades as I run soapy hands down his back, over his hips, down his thighs. He shivers, leaning into me, and when I rinse him off, the smile he gives me is all soft edges and relief.
When it’s my turn, Noah takes the soap and returns the favor. His hands are clumsy, a little unsure, but he tries anyway, fingers brushing over my skin in careful sweeps. I let myself enjoy it, head tipping back under the spray, eyes closing as I justfeel—his hands, his care, the quiet joy of being taken care of by the boy I’ve loved for so damn long.
Once we’re clean and pruney, I grab towels from the rack, wrapping one around Noah, ruffling his hair a little just to make him laugh. He shoves at me but doesn’t move away, clutching the towel to his chest, all shy grins and bright eyes.
“Go grab whatever you want from my drawer,” I tell him as I pull on clean sweats, waving toward my dresser. “Seriously. Anything.”
He pads over, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a pair of my boxers, looking at them like he’s not sure if he should. Then he glances at me, and I smile, nodding my encouragement. He steps into them and tugs them up his hips.
“A bit too big for me, but that’s alright,” he says, then grabs a t-shirt—one of my old practice shirts, faded black with the number 33 and MOORE in block white across the back.
He pulls it over his head, the hem nearly reaching his thighs, sleeves hanging loose on his arms. He looks ridiculous, and perfect, and so fucking mine it nearly knocks the air out of me.
