Before the bullet, I would’ve known exactly what to do with Benji right now. I would’ve had him against the tile wall in that shower with my hands on his hips and my mouth onhis neck. I would’ve pressed him into the glass and felt him get hard against me and the shower would have run for an hour. The bill would have been worth every cent.
Benji has stopped talking. He turns sideways and reaches for the handle. His hand closes around the chrome and he starts to twist.
“No.” The word rips out of me. I’m shouting loud enough for him to hear me over the water. “Benji. Please don’t stop.”
His hand freezes on the handle. The shower is still falling in a heavy sheet behind him, steam rolling through the frame in thick curls. He stands there in profile with his hand on the chrome and his chest rising and falling. His shoulders drop half an inch. His chin tilts down. Then he turns to face the phone.
The grin is gone. His eyes are wide with a naked hunger that he’s not even trying to hide. The water is hitting his shoulder and running down his side in a sheet and he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Tell me what you want from me, Mickey. Tell me and I won’t stop. I’ll give you anything you want. Name it.”
My pulse is slamming in my ears and there’s heat spreading through my body. My cock is still there. Still interested. I’m terrified that if I say the wrong thing everything will stop.
But Benji is standing there, looking at me through the phone with eyes that are asking me to be brave. And I have been so careful for so long. Careful with every thought that gets too close to the thing I actually want. And I am so fucking tired of being careful.
“Benji. I want to see you. Everything.Please.”
He holds my gaze through the camera for a split second more. Long enough for me to understand that whatever is about to happen he’s doing it for me.
He steps back under the shower. The rainfall catches him full across the shoulders and pours down his chest. He tips his head back and lets the water run over his face and his neck and I watch it travel the length of his body until it reaches his cock.
His right hand moves down. He knows I need this. His fingers trail down the center of his stomach, past the V-line at his hip. He wraps his hand around his cock. The harsh breath that comes out of him is audible even over the shower.
He’s not hard yet but he’s getting there. His hand moves in one long stroke from root to tip and back again and his cock thickens under his palm, lengthening, the head darkening as blood fills him. His hand tightens slightly around the shaft and he pulls again, his wrist turning at the top in a motion that is devastating to watch.
His eyes are closed. His head is tipped back, his lips parted and his chest is rising and falling. Water pours over his hand, over his cock, running between his fingers and down the insides of his thighs. His free hand braces against the tile wall, his palm flat, the tendons in his forearm standing out as he steadies himself.
He opens his eyes and turns his head toward the phone.
“Still watching?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is shot. “I’m here.”
His mouth curves into that private smile meant only for me. His hand moves again. Long, unhurried strokes that pull the full length of him through his fist and back. He’s fully hard now and the sight of it makes my gut clench. His cock is thick and dark with blood, the head slick with pre-cum, and every stroke pushes a sound out of him that’s low enough that the phone speaker barely catches it. A grunt that lives in the bottom of his chest.
My cock is harder than it’s been since the bullet, and it’s responding to the image of Benji in that shower with his hand around himself and his mouth open. My body is doing something I’d almost stopped hoping for and it’s doing it because of him.
His hips shift forward slightly into his fist, a small involuntary motion. His stomach tightens with each stroke, the muscles clenching and releasing, and his breathing has gone ragged.
“Mickey.” He says my name with his eyes half-closed and his hand moving.
I can’t speak. There are no words left in me.
His pace picks up. Not by much. His wrist moves faster at the top and his hips are pushing forward in a rhythm that’s stopped being voluntary. The sounds he’s making now.Jesus. His breath is coming in stutters and his stomach is pulled tight. His cock is slick and straining in his fist.
“Benji, open your eyes,” I tell him. “Look at me.”
His eyes open and find me. “I’m—”
His whole body tightens. His hips push forward one last time and his mouth opens with a low, shaking groan, his body jerking in short pulses as he comes over his own fist, the water washing it away almost as fast as it leaves him.
He stands there under the rainfall with his hand still on himself and his forehead pressed against the tile.
Below my waist, my hard cock is holding.
Thank fuck.
Benji lifts his head from the tile and turns toward the phone. The shower is still falling on him, and his eyes are glassy with heat. I can’t look away.
