Bitches Group Chat
Time:4:29 PM
McCormick:
How do you make Beenie Weenies?
Wardell:
You open the can, genius.
McCormick:
Yeah, but then what?
Stiles:
Pop it in the microwave.
McCormick:
That’s it? It doesn’t get better than this?
Aguilar:
Do you want to come for dinner?
Close Contact
A Steamy Situation with Nash & Brewer
The shower's already running when Nash steps into the bathroom, steam curling around the edges of the curtain like an invitation. Brewer’s inside, head bowed under the spray, water trailing down the long lines of his back.
Nash doesn’t knock. Doesn’t need to. They’ve been in sync like this for a while now, slipping into shared spaces like they’re meant to be there.
He peels off his clothes, pushes the curtain back, and steps in behind him. Brewer glances back, eyes hooded under wet lashes, and moves aside just enough to make room.
Nash slides in, bare skin meeting heat and humidity and Brewer’s familiar gravity. He wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his chest to Brewer’s back, and exhales.
There’s no rush. No words at first.
Just the slow drag of soap over skin, hands lingering longer than necessary. Nash presses a kiss to the back of Brewer’s neck and feels him shiver and he turns to face Nash, chest to chest.
Brewer leans into him, breath hitching when Nash’s hand slides lower, stroking them both with slow, aching precision until they’re flush, joined in a way that’s as intimate as it is intense. He keeps his movements unhurried. Their foreheadspress together, eyes fluttering shut. Every breath shared, every movement deliberate. Water trickles between them, over them, but it’s the slick heat between their bodies that really drowns everything else out.
“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” Nash murmurs, voice rough.
Brewer’s answer is a low groan and a grinding shift of his hips.
They move together in silence, steam ghosting off the tiles, until they’re both shaking, held up only by each other and the trembling grip on slick skin. Nash slides back his foreskin, revealing a fat purple head. Brewer mimics him, unsheathing his smooth pink crown, and slides it against Nash’s, like a slippery kiss.
Brewer slides his skin over Nash’s head, enveloping him in slick warmth. His gasp echoes off the walls. His slow strokes encompass both his shaft and Nash’s. One long fluid stroke of pure pleasure that makes Nash’s breath come faster, shallower. Brewer increases his pace, working them faster until Nash braces his hand on the wall for support. The fire in his bright blue eyes burns Brewer. He takes Nash’s lips and swallows his cry as Nash spills in his fist. Brewer follows with a shout and peels back his skin, sliding away from Nash’s now softening cock.
When it’s over, they don’t move apart. They stand there, breathing hard, letting the water wash over them like it might rinse away how much theyneed.
Eventually, Brewer turns in his arms, kisses him slow, and says against his mouth, “Next time, warn me before you ambush me in the shower.”
Nash chuckles, thumb brushing Brewer’s jaw. “You didn’t exactly resist.”
