I lean against the wall, trickles of warm water glide down my bare back. The steam lingers up, grasping the air. My expression is stagnant, and my eyes closed, under the dim shadows of bright brown and dark yellow.

One hand holds the wall, my forearm resting against the cool wet tile along with it, as the other holds where my hip bone just slightly juts out. My fingers stroke the coarse, almost non-existent, hairs just below.

As I contemplate further action, becoming aroused simply as a result of my fingers tickling just above, I decide to let them roam a little lower. I probably shouldn’t, since any of them could come it, but I’m alone now and just want it to feel good for a little while.

I finger it, gliding slowly up then down, while still leaning heavily against the wall, my back curving to some extent.

It gets harder, each stroke tingling through my pelvis as its sensitivity increases.

My mouth opens, water sneaking over my lips after running through my hair and over my eyelids.

My hand curls around it, pressing in the curve of my thumb for more stimulation. I push slowly, tugging my hand down the length as it continues to grow.

I just wanted to touch it, give it a little tickle real quick, but I don’t want to stop now.

I can finish real fast.

Nah.

Not real fast. I wanna take my time, most of them already finished their showers anyhow. Just like Nick, just like me, last to finish. So who cares?

But when he comes in, I don’t even care. The door opens and squeaks closed, then no other noise. I can tell he’s noticed, and he’s just watching me. I don’t stop, slow, or even open my eyes. I go faster, yanking at a steady pace, the side of my head pressed to the wall.

He starts walking to me, and I don’t have to look to know who it is, because anybody else would have left as soon as they saw me.

Strong, gentle fingers probe my back, skillfully massaging the flesh. He’s increased my arousal ten times, but I give no sign to him of it, and soon I feel kisses on my shoulders. His fingers stimulate my nipples, which he knows are so sensitive, as well as simply rubbing the wet smoothness of my chest.

I make no objection when he reaches for my body wash sitting on the plastic ledge in front of me, knowing what he wants to do. I don’t have energy to protest, as I’m drained from the show and all energy I have left is focused on the flushed rod extending triumphantly out from my pelvis.

I don’t really want to protest, anyway.

“Spread your legs...lean forward more,” Kevin tells me, the relaxing vibrations of his voice shuddering into the nape of my neck, then exploding in pleasurable little flickers in the back of my head.

I comply and move out of the spray some, his hands guiding me to make sure my position is right.

I slow my movement, rubbing only lightly as his fingers, coated with the liquid soap, caress the tightness of my asshole. He smears it on, then goes for more, and in another moment I’m feeling two fingers push inside. My eyes roll back behind my closed eyelids, and I stop touching it, knowing I need to in order for him to continue. But I still keep the motion, stroking where my upper thigh meets my hip instead.

After putting the bottle back, his knees brush the back of mine as he bends them, while fingers pry apart the fleshy lobes of my ass. He pushes in, slow and steady, the thick slippery liquid sliding him easily inside as his knees extend again. Even though there’s no direct stimulation to my dick, it feels like it’s about to explode, swelling and throbbing in delight.

Short bursts, pants, quick and choppy from his eloquent mouth, directly in my ear. He moans with every tiny thrust, each lasting only as long as it takes him to push in the tiny way farther. It kills me every time to hear Kevin get such pleasure from me. To hear him cry it so freely, under the control of his arousal.

I grab myself again as his hips pull back, and try to rub with the same unhurried steadiness, as he pushes back in, still panting his quiet moans. He holds my waist, his fingers tight at my hips, pulling gently as he drives upwards.

The side of my face, shoulder, and arm still rest against the tile in the dark shadowy dimness of the closed-off showers. I feel like a mushy heap, my legs and groin tingling and so enlivened as it builds, and it feels almost as if it’s forcing me against the wall. Kevin’s body does, though. It rocks me, pushing me again and again from the compassionate slamming of his hips into my ass, shoving all of him inside me, then yanking it back out. Wanting to feel the hugging, the subtle suction, of my snug opening over and over.

He still moans and I jerk faster and faster, my expression finally changing. My face comes to a pained expression of concentration, and I bite my lower lip. It’s coming. Close.

Don’t stop; don’t stop.

Stopping certainly hasn’t occurred to him, and he seems to feel just as urgent about it as I am. His thrusts have quickened so much I hear him slapping into me, it echoes, the noise of his graceful moans and grunts are amplified along with it, but neither of us care.

An arm comes around my waist and his hand covers mine. He moves with it, aiding the stimulation, as he knows he’s close and wants me to cum with him, or at least as close as possible.

With a few more good thrusts, he is cumming, sure that I am too, feeling the jerk of my hips as the cum eagerly spurts. He still moves, his member instinctively trying to plunge deeper inside, and he grunts with each quick thrust, then holds his pelvis snuggly there as he shoots his load.

Arms wrap around my chest, hugging me, their hold secure and supportive as we calm down, embracing the exhilaration.

“Mmm...I love you,” he thoughtfully whispers. He kisses my cheek, and it’s far from what would be considered a peck.

“Ga...yeah,” I huff, so tired I can barely find the power to speak.

Finding I’m depending on him completely to stand upright, he carefully lets me slide to the floor, slipping free of me himself, and holds me until I finally meet the floor. I lie against the wall, my eyes still closed, as I try to at least somewhat recuperate.

While I rest, surprisingly comfortable against the cool tile of the wall and floor, he takes the opportunity to do what he came in here for and grabs my soap to actually clean himself off. The sudsy water drips and pools in various places around me, before heading to the drain, and I don’t care at all.

He finishes quickly and then turns off the shower, leaving all quiet but a few odd drips, that of which still pours off his body, and slithers from the showerhead. He squats down and pats my arm. “Come on, Nick, up.”

I shake my head slowly, like a child refusing to rise from their nap. I don’t want to get up; I’m too tired.

“Come on, baby,” he repeats, his words soft and kind as an arm slips around my chest and under my arm. He begins to tug. “We have to go.”

I moan in refusal. Just leave me alone.

“You can come with me,” he offers. “Then to my room. I’ll get you there, you can sleep all you want, but you gotta get up and get dressed first.” His voice is still even and unhurried, but he’s added almost this pouting aspect to it, like he’s trying to convince that toddler to get up and come with him. Because going with him would be so much better than a nap.

I take a little while longer to think about it, wanting him to wait and think that I’m really not eager to, I then open my eyes. With his next tug, I carefully lift myself with the help of his arms.

I don’t want to wake up too much, and he’s gentle with me as we get dressed and maneuver ourselves to his van without being seen. All because he knows I’d like to stay in that half-asleep state, and how good it feels to stay that way.

Once in his room, he undresses me. I then slip under the covers he holds open for me, collapsing into the bed until he pulls and guides me into his arms.