The steam was already thick when Marc stepped under the spray. I had left the bathroom door cracked on purpose. He knew I was still in the apartment. We had been friends long enough that neither of us pretended the air between us stayed simple.
I watched the water run down the hard lines of his back. My pulse kicked up the way it always did when he got quiet and close. I slid the glass door open and stepped in behind him. The heat hit my skin and the tiles felt slick under my feet.
Steam and Soft Hands
Marc turned. His eyes landed on me and stayed. No joke. No shrug. Just that slow look that said he had been waiting for this exact second. I reached past him for the soap and let my fingers brush his hip. He did not move away.
I worked the lather across his chest first. Slow circles. My palms mapped every rise of muscle while the water rinsed the suds away in rivers. When my hand dropped lower he sucked in a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. I wrapped my fingers around him and felt him thicken right away. The weight of him in my palm sent a rush straight through me.
I stroked him the way I had imagined more times than I would ever admit. Long pulls from the base up to the tip. A gentle twist at the head. My other hand rested on his stomach so I could feel every twitch. Marc braced one arm against the tile and let his head tip back. Water streamed over both of us. I kept the rhythm steady and teasing, never quite giving him the pace he wanted.
His voice came out low. “Alex… fuck…”
I smiled against his shoulder and tightened my grip just enough. The soap made everything slippery and perfect. I dragged my thumb over the sensitive spot under the head and watched his thighs tense. Every little sound he made pushed me deeper into the moment. This was not rushed. This was me taking my time with the guy I had wanted for months.
I pressed closer so my chest touched his back. My free hand slid down to cup him underneath while the other kept working that seductive handjob rhythm. Slow. Firm. Then faster when his breathing turned ragged. The shower filled with the soft wet sounds of my hand moving over him and the quiet curses he could not hold back.
When he finally spilled it was with a full body shudder. I stayed right there, stroking him through it until he was soft and spent and leaning into me. The water kept running. Neither of us reached for the faucet.
Marc turned and rested his forehead against mine. His hands found my waist. We stood like that for a long minute while the steam wrapped around us. Friendship had just changed shape and neither of us looked ready to pretend it had not.
I kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “Next time you leave the door open on purpose.”
He laughed, still a little shaky, and pulled me under the spray with him. The night was only getting started.