After they finished, Adrik helped Hans put the plates in the dishwasher.
“Let’s take a shower,” Hans suggested.
Adrik nodded and followed Hans to the bathroom. A smile crinkled Hans’ face as if Adrik had given him a gift. WhenAdrik undressed, Adrik didn’t miss Hans staring at his erection and seemed pleased.Of course, he would be.
Stepping into the steam-filled stall, Adrik extended a steady hand to guide Hans inside. He began with a slow, methodical rhythm, soaping Hans’ skin before focusing his attention on cleaning him with lingering touches. With a quiet focus, he labored over Hans’ golden-brown hair, working the lather deep into the scalp. Once the suds had been rinsed away, Adrik moved behind him to scrub his back, eventually wrapping his arms around Hans to massage him with a gentle, thorough pressure.
“Wash me,” Adrik said, his voice low against the spray.
Hans obliged, starting with Adrik’s head before applying a dollop of gel to his backside with careful precision. Using the hand shower, Hans rinsed away the soap in a warm cascade. He moved upward to scrub Adrik’s hair and beard, the water slicking everything back as he rinsed them both clean.
The mood shifted when Adrik caught the second showerhead, playfully flooding Hans’ face with a sudden stream of water. Laughing, Hans stepped back and retaliated, spraying his own showerhead in return. They fell into a rhythmic game of cat and mouse, spraying each other until their limbs felt heavy and their lungs burned. In these moments, Hans drew out a buried, playful side of Adrik—a side that had been hidden under layers of responsibility for far too long. Hans wasn’t just a lover; he was the perfect, rejuvenating distraction.
Gripping Hans’ thin waist, Adrik swung him around to face the cool tile. He worked the shower gel between his palms to lather Hans’ entrance, eventually sliding a finger inside to stretch him with a slow, circular motion. As the shower rained down on them, Hans’ body reacted instantly, his cock standing at attention. After rolling on a condom, Adrik lubricated it thenleaned over him, pressing forward until he was buried deep inside.
He established a steady friction, his weight pressing Hans against the wall while his soapy hands reached around to stroke Hans’ length. Hans met every thrust with a rhythmic counter-pressure of his own.
“I didn’t mean to start this now,” Adrik murmured, his breath hot against Hans’ neck.
“I’m not complaining, Adrik,” Hans gasped.
Suddenly, the friction ceased as Adrik withdrew.
“Why did you stop?” Hans asked, turning around with a look of dazed confusion.
“We’ll continue this later. I just wanted to tease you a bit.”
“Tease me? I want you now,” Hans countered, his features tight with frustration.
“You’re going to have to wait.”
Adrik stepped out of the stall, discarded the condom, and returned with two plush towels. By the time Hans stood beside him, the playfulness had vanished, replaced by a charged, lingering tension as they dried off and sat side-by-side on the edge of the bed.
They cuddled in the bed.
“I can get used to sleeping with you,” Adrik said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hans
Munich, Germany
Hans had been floatingthrough the week, and he knew it. Every night he either ended up at Adrik’s place or Adrik ended up at his, and somehow it never felt like an inconvenience. It felt right. Comfortable in a way that made his chest warm. By Friday morning, both of their bags were lined up by the door, and Hans kept glancing at them like a kid waiting for Christmas.
He’d been looking forward to showing Munich to Adrik.He’s going to love it. Please let him love it,he kept thinking as they boarded the train Saturday. The ride from Rostock to Munich was a little over an hour, but it went by fast—mostly because Adrik kept leaning his shoulder against Hans, pointing out random scenery and making quiet jokes that had Hans grinning like an idiot.
When they reached the hotel, they dropped their bags and took a quick shower—Hans trying not to stare too obviously at Adrik’s bare back in the mirror. Focus, Hans. You’re not sixteen.
Once they were dressed again, Hans led Adrik out of the hotel and into the late-morning Munich air, the city already humming like it had been awake for hours. The moment they stepped onto the street, the familiar mix of scents hit him—fresh bread drifting from a nearby bakery, roasted nuts from a vendor setting up his cart, and that faint metallic tang of the tram lines sparking overhead. It was the kind of sensory chaos Hans had grown up with, but seeing Adrik take it in made it feel new again.
They walked towardMarienplatz, and Hans watched Adrik’s eyes widen as the Glockenspiel towered above them, its ornate figures frozen mid-story. Tourists clustered with cameras, street musicians tuned their instruments, and a cyclist zipped past with a muttered apology. Munich always had this blend of old-world charm and modern impatience, and Hans found himself weirdly proud of it.
“This place is… loud,” Adrik said.
“Loud is part of the charm,” Hans replied, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “Wait until the Glockenspiel starts. It’s ridiculous and wonderful.”
They wandered past stalls selling pretzels the size of plates, the warm, yeasty smell curling around them. A group of teenagers laughed loudly near the fountain, splashing each other with freezing water. Somewhere down the street, someone was playing an accordion—slightly off-key, but enthusiastic.
