I've seen guys naked more times than I can count. Taken off more clothes than I've ever owned.
So how is this one,
this particular body, any different from the others?
Why does he refuse to see what's infront of him? Why must he deny using it?
I mean, there's a naked man in his shower, vulnerable and unable to run even if he wanted to.
I wouldn't blame him for taking the chance.
I'd let him.
It's what he deserves right now.
He fiddles with his belt as I try not to look there intentionally. He's doing this for me. I shouldn't be perving on him like this.
It's so wrong.
But his collarbones…
the way the steam settles on them forming these tiny droplets that glide down his skin.
The way he doesn't care how he looks to me.
And the way I can't look away.
His trousers drop, mixing with the blood that's settled in the tile cracks.
It's so wrong.
To be dull and matte in the same water that glows from him.
He slides the shower entrance to the side, cramming himself next to me, his body sticking to mine.
"Do you want to stay down there or stand?" He offers his hand as I shake my head.
"You reckon you can fit down here? I always shower seated."
I say, facing upwards to meet his gaze, holding it there, trying not to venture it elsewhere.
He lifts his foot, stretching himself to reach this dark green body wash.
"You sure you want to use that on me?" I question, tapping his ankle.
"Looks expensive."
He bends his arm to examine the bottle , scanning the front label.
"I think you're more than worth £1.99 Sea."
He insists as he instructs me to hold out my arm, lathering the soap with his palm.
His voice softens.
He's not nearly as stern as a moment ago.
Is he being careful with me now? After seeing how disgusting I truly am. Has he reached the conclusion of babying?
Normally I wouldn't give a shit. Watch me how you like. If that's what you're into who am I to judge. As long as they are using their perversions on me and not in the real world.
But Lucas.
I only want you, to see me as a man.
"Does this usually hurt you?" His voice trembling. So subtle but, I hear it.
He squeezes the bottle, pooling some wash on his hand, gesturing at my leg.
"I don't know." I sigh, hugging my legs, forcing them to my chest.
"I don't even try washing it.
Water alone is painful."
I sink my head between my knees. I already know his face. Is he grossed out? Pissed? Pitying?
I feel a gentle touch on my head, then on my bicep.
I dig myself from my position. Looking at him.
"Seazon. I'm going to try clean it okay? The dried blood and scabs could be why it's hurting. And we'll keep cleaning it, everyday, until the blood stops. Is that okay with you?"
He whispers. His face so close I can feel the warmth of his breath amplified by the humidity.
"Kay." I mumble, my throat pounding, tensing after every word I speak.
His fingers trace the edge of my wounds.
A feeling that should burn, a touch that should kill,
but when it's him, I can't feel anything.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, expecting that same shooting pain to pass from my leg through my body, scorching every tendon, every nerve,
bracing for impact.
But it never came.
Not as he washed me.
Not as the water melted inside my scrapes.
Not as he patted my body down with the towel he uses on his own.
Not as he dried my hair, massaging it between those delicate fingers he owns.
Not as he tied my hair up with that pink scrunchie once again.
Not as he offered me his clothes to wear.
Not one ounce of pain ever came,
or perhaps I was just distracted.
Perhaps my mind found something else to focus on.
I perch on the end of his bed, patiently waiting for anything, some sort of sign sugesting he wants me to leave.
"I can't do this to you." I sigh, gripping the clothes tighter, muffling them between my thighs.
It's this huge T-shirt with a Muse album logo on it and some anime printed boxers.
I scan the print as I feel the weight of his body press beside me.
He doesn't say anything, all I hear is the shuffle of his head turning towards me, the sound of his hair tickling the sheets.
"What do you like Seazon?
What are you into?"
I snicker, arching my back to scratch, drooping my shoulders and arms behind my me.
"I like a bit of foreplay, I'm also really into dominance."
I let my body fall backwards, spreading myself on his bed, seriously testing his patience I'm sure.
But then this tug. A gentle pull to my hair. Lucas so close I can smell the soap he used to wash me with.
This lemon and lime scent with a hint of some fancy exotic crap.
"You know what I mean.
What are you into?
what do you like?
What do you want for yourself?"
A pause.
A brief silence passes.
"I like music."
I blurt out, forgetting the order of my mind just for a second.
I clear my throat, covering my mouth as I wipe away any spit with my wrist.
"I liked, music." I repeat.
"I liked running through the fields with my sister on a cool summer afternoon."
"I liked collecting rocks, even the shitty boring ones. I liked how old they were, how long they'd lived and how they'd survived through time."
"I liked not needing a distraction from the world.
I think, I liked living."
The tug doesn't stop. He's still attached to my hair like a grabby toddler.
"What happened to you Seazon?
To your leg, in your life.
Your family.
Will you allow me to know your story?"