Hale's fingers rested between Elliot's shoulders. "Is this new?"
Elliot knew exactly which tattoo he was referring to. "Yeah. I've added a few."
“0.5.” Hale’s finger traced the small digits. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Time’s ticking, Hale.”
Hale didn’t push. His hands moved lower, soaping down Elliot's lower back, his ass, his thighs, then back up
"Turn around," Hale whispered in his ear.
Elliot turned. Hale’s eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and he knew exactly where this was heading.
Hale dropped to his knees. His hands gripped Elliot’s hips, holding him against the tile. "We've got time."
They didn't, actually. Hale had a flight to catch, Elliot had to check out of the hotel, they both had lives waiting for them outside this bathroom.
But when Hale's mouth closed around his dick, Elliot stopped thinking about logistics.
Working him with confidence, Hale seemed comfortable now in a way he hadn't been at Selection. Elliot had to brace both hands against the tile to stay upright.
"Ah—" Elliot breathed, losing the fight to stay still. “Putain, c’est bon.”
Hale made an approving sound and took him deeper, and Elliot's control fractured completely. He threaded one hand through Hale's wet hair, trying to control the pace.
Hale’s tongue moved in ways that made rational thought impossible. He moved from the head all the way down and back up again, gripping tightly around the base with one hand. The other travelled up Elliot’s thigh and rested between his crease with a slight pressure.
Jesus.
Hale glanced up at him through wet lashes, water running down his face, mouth stretched around Elliot's dick, and the visual alone nearly finished Elliot on the spot.
"I'm—" Elliot tried to warn him.
Hale didn't pull off. He worked him faster, drawing Elliot’s orgasm out of him. He didn’t let up until Elliot leaned against the tiles completely slack.
When Hale released him, he looked so pleased with himself Elliot couldn’t help but smile.
"Show-off," he managed when he could speak.
"God, I got good." Hale had a shit-eating grin on his face that made Elliot’s stomach flutter.
He pulled Hale up into a deep kiss, tasting himself on his tongue.
Hale kissed back just as hard, hands sliding up Elliot's ribs and into his hair. When they finally broke apart they were both back to ragged breathing.
"Your turn," Elliot said, reaching for him.
"We don't have time." Hale caught Elliot’s wrist gently. "I mean it. I really have to go."
Elliot searched his face. Hale wasn’t deflecting—he actually meant it. "Okay," he said, releasing him.
They finished showering, efficient now, the easy intimacy of five minutes ago already receding. Hale turned off the water and reached for a towel, and Elliot watched him dry off, suddenly worn down.
Hale dressed, pulling on yesterday's clothes, and Elliot committed it all to memory. The way his hair stuck up when it was wet. The small scar on his shoulder blade that Elliot had traced last night.
