His answer is the way he leans into me. Boneless and surrendered.
I help him step into the shower, the steam enveloping us in the same way as his shadows, then leave him alone. I linger at the doorway, telling myself to give him space, until he exhales, low and shaky, as if even breathing hurts.
Without questioning it, I strip off my clothes and join him. Hayden stands with his eyes closed under the spray, hands braced against the dark tile.
I reach for the soap and start with his shoulders, my fingers moving in gentle, deliberate sweeps, working into the knots I now know are centuries deep. He groans, a low, worn-out sound, as if he doesn’t know how to let go and is trying to remember.
I lather shampoo between my palms, sliding my fingers into his hair. He goes still, tipping his head back with a surrendering sigh.
“You really don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, barely audible over the water.
“I want to,” I say, massaging slow circles into his scalp.
When I cup water in my hands and pour it over his hair, he starts to let go, and I wonder just how long it’s been since he’s let himself be cared for.
His shadows hover, silent sentries against the glass, waiting for permission to join us.
He turns toward me, and his head drops to my shoulder with a sound that splits the air. Part moan, part need. It’s the kind of sound that sayspleasewithout ever forming the word. He lets me trail my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, over the planes of his stomach. My touch lingers at his hips, and when I pause, I feel the shift.
His cock presses between us, thick and growing, like he’s unsure he’s allowed to want this.
I glance up, expecting him to flinch, but he holds my gaze…bare, raw, and so achingly desperate it makes my knees weak.
“Okay?” I ask. He nods once, solid.
I press closer, hands gliding along the slick curve of his waist, fingers daggering into the tense muscle there. His breath stutters against my cheek as my hand slides lower, finding him thick and flushed, already trembling like he’s been waiting for this touch too long. I wrap my hand around him, slow and deliberate. He shudders, my touch both permission and provocation.
Hayden swears, a low sound that vibrates through the shower’s steady hiss. Water trickles between us, hot and heavy, but it’s the way his body melts under my hands that undoes me.
“Levi,” he rasps, voice trembling. “I’m not used to…” But his hips rock forward, greedy in a way his mouth or brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
“I know,” I whisper, cutting him off with a slow drag of my palm that pulls a shiver straight out of him. “Your only job is to let me.” His hands find my shoulders, then slide down my back, before he nods.
I stroke him, desperate to memorize the sound he makes when he let’s go of control. Not hurried or teasing, just present. My free hand holds his back, anchoring him as his hips jerk forward, grinding his cock into my fist like the drag of skin on skin is the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely. Each pulse against my palm feels like an admission, and I treat it like one. His moans catch, a needy little whimper that makes my cock throb.
“Levi,” he groans, voice cracking. “Baby, I’m—”
I hush him with my mouth on his throat, coaxing the tension out of him. He bucks once as I stroke him, then again when I squeeze his dick, harder this time, the fight slipping away from him.
And still, I hold him.
Because sometimes, softness is the tougher ask.
His teeth graze my shoulder as his body shakes from a release that’s so overdue it feels like a reckoning.
His cock pulses in my hand, ropes of thick cum spilling between us as he comes down from his high.
“You’re okay,” I whisper over and over again, threading the words through his hair until they become a rhythm. “You’re safe, Hayden. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
He responds by intertwining his fingers with mine, pressed to me even after.
I brush my lips to his temple. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”
He nods, limbs heavy, and I guide him out, wrapping a towel around him.
I towel his hair, combing through damp strands that curl across his forehead. He watches me, quiet and raw, and once we’re both dry, I press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, my palm against the side of his face.
“I didn’t realize how badly I needed this,” he says, leaning into my touch. “Until you.”
