"We didn't even unzip our pants." He sounds amazed by this fact.
"We didn't," I agree, still grinning. "We just humped each other like teenagers in the backseat of a car."
"That's embarrassing, right? That should be embarrassing."
"Probably." I grin up at him, feeling lighter than I have in years. "I don't care even a little bit."
"Me neither." He grins back, and then he's laughing too, and we're both lying there laughing like idiots, sticky and gross and happier than I've ever been in my entire miserable life.
"You know what?" Ivan says when the laughter finally subsides, when we're just grinning at each other like fools. "I came straight from work. I really need a shower. Especially now."
"Yeah, you do." I wrinkle my nose playfully. "You smell like an electrical fire and copper wiring."
"Thanks a lot." He shoves my shoulder, but he's still smiling, still looking at me with those blue eyes that make my chest ache. "It's a good thing I actually brought clothes this time. Unlike last weekend when I showed up with nothing."
"Very responsible of you. I'm impressed."
"You'll learn that I'm a very responsible person." He pushes himself up off me, grimacing slightly as he moves, as he feels the mess in his jeans. "Okay, yeah. Definitely need to change clothes. And shower."
"You're the one who couldn't wait to get undressed properly," I point out.
"Me? You literally pulled me through the door and attacked me."
He laughs again and climbs off the bed, walking over to his overnight bag and digging through it for clean clothes. I lie there watching him, taking in the lines of his back, the way his muscles move under his skin, the curve of his ass in those ruined jeans.
"Stop staring," he says without turning around.
"Can't help it. You're too damn attractive to stop."
He glances over his shoulder, and catches my eye. His look says this isn't over, that we're just getting started. "I'm going to shower now. Try to contain yourself while I'm gone."
"No promises from me."
He disappears into the bathroom and I hear the water turn on. I lie on the bed, my heart still pounding. I think about the sounds he made, the way he said my name when he came. I think about the way he laughed afterward, easy and unashamed, like there was nothing weird about two grown men grinding on each other like teenagers who can't control themselves. Because there isn't. Not for us. We've been through too much together to be shy with each other, to be embarrassed. We've seen each other at our worst, held each other through nightmares and beatings and years of loss. What's a little cum in our jeans compared to all that?
I get up from the bed, peeling off my ruined jeans and boxers with a grimace. They're disgusting, sticky and cold now, and I drop them in a pile on the floor. I'm still half-hard despite just coming, still buzzing from what just happened, still wanting more. Wanting him.
I stand there for a moment, naked, staring at the bathroom door. I can hear the water running, can see the steam curling out from under the door. My heart is pounding again, but not from fear. From anticipation. From want.
I walk to the bathroom door and open it. Through the frosted shower curtain, I can see the outline of Ivan's body—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the long legs. He's got his head under the spray, water running down his back in rivulets. My pulse races as I reach out and pull back the curtain, the plastic crinkling under my fingers.
Ivan turns fully toward me, water streaming down his face, cascading over his chest in glistening trails that follow the defined ridges of his pecs and abs. His eyes go wide when he sees me standing there naked, my cock already half-hard and thickening with every second I drink him in. Then his gaze darkens, pupils blowing wide with raw hunger that makes my stomach flip, sends a fresh rush of blood southward until I'm fully erect, aching.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the steam swirling around us. This is the first time I've seen him fully naked, nothing hidden, just Ivan in all his glory. The water slicks his skin, making it shine under the spray. Broad shoulders taper to a chiseled torso, muscles honed from years of whatever life threw at him. His nipples are tight from the heat, dark pink against his pale skin. My eyes trail lower, following the V of his hips, the sparse trail of dark hair that arrows down from his navel to his groin.
Oh god.
His cock is right there, fully hard and jutting out from a nest of trimmed curls, the shaft thick and veined, curving slightly upward toward a flushed, swollen head that's already leaking a bead of pre-cum mixed with the shower water. It's longer than mine, with a girth that makes my mouth water. Solid and heavy-looking, the skin smooth and taut over the rigid length, balls hanging full and tight beneath. He's fucking perfect.
"Room for one more?" I ask.
His chest heaves as he reaches out with one wet hand, fingers wrapping around my wrist and yanks me into the shower with him. The water hits me like a scalding embrace, almost too hot, streaming over my shoulders and down my back as I step into the cramped space. The cheap motel shower is barely big enough for one, let alone two grown men, but fuck if I care. Our bodies press together instantly, skin to slick skin, his chest against mine, our wet torsos sliding with every breath. My erection brushes his thigh, and his pokes into my hip, hot and insistent, the velvet hardness making me groan low in my chest.
"Hi," he says, and there's something almost shy in his voice despite the fact that we're both naked, cocks hard and trapped between us. His blue eyes flick down my body again, lingering on my cock, and I see his throat bob as he swallows hard.
"Hi," I say back, my hands coming up to frame his face, thumbs brushing the water from his cheeks. God, he's perfect. Strong jaw shadowed with stubble, lips parted and swollen from earlier kisses.
And then we're kissing again, slower this time, deeper, tongues tangling as the water pours over us. His hands slide up my sides, calluses scraping lightly over my ribs, sending shivers through me despite the heat. I map his back with my palms, feeling the play of muscles under his skin, the dip of his spine, down to the firm curve of his ass. I press him back against the tile wall, and he gasps into my mouth at the sudden cold contrast, arching instinctively. I plaster myself against him, our bodies aligning perfectly—chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and oh fuck, our cocks slotting together, hard lengths grinding as the water makes everything slippery and electric.
