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By the time I’d returned, Leland had already gone through the bench’s caddy for the sponge and soap, and had begun lathering up his chest.
I waited at the threshold of the bathroom, allowing him any amount of independence he could achieve. His chest area was all he could manage, especially since he didn’t have the use of his dominant arm. I pushed off the doorjamb and hurried in when he nearly tipped over. “I’ve got you,” I said, holding the sponge under the spray of water until it was sufficiently wet, then scrubbing him down as gently as possible without also making him feel fragile.
I soaped up his back, his good arm and good leg, counting every healing scar and bruise he’d sustained from the accident. Bruises and scars I hadn’t created physically, but emotionally, I was responsible for them all, and I planned on atoning for every last one of them.
“Tilt your head back a little,” I said, turning on the hand-held showerhead and removing it from its mount on the stone wall. I held it over his hair, rinsing the suds away.
I was soaked from head to toe. Maneuvering around the bench had put me directly under the fall of water, and if we stayed in there any longer, we’d both turn into prunes. I’d stalled as long as I could.
With the scissors in hand, I crouched and began cutting the boxer briefs upward from the leg.
Leland’s stomach went taut, and the volume of his anxious panting rose above the sound of both running showerheads. “Fuck. Wait,” he said, but it was too late. I’d already cut high enough for his erection to pop free. He quickly released the punishing grip he had on the side of the bench to desperately tug the wet flap of cotton over his cock.
I bit into my tongue, needing the physical pain to consume me before my arousal could. I stood, unintentionally lining up the junction between my hips with his gaze, and thankfully I hadn’t been erect.
“I’ve got it from here,” he said, closing his eyes. He was already flushed from the steam, but the color had deepened. He was embarrassed.
“I won’t go far,” I told him.
“I said I’ve got it.”
I backed away, grabbing a towel from one of the shelves and drying off as best I could before leaving him alone. I waited out of sight but close enough so I could be there if he needed me. Water dripped down my legs to pool on the floor at my feet, and I wrapped the towel tighter around me.
First came a breathless whimper and then shortly after, a bottle crashed to the shower floor, likely the bodywash, followed by a string of curses. I charged in to find Leland sliding down the bench, his one-handed hold on the side not helping him, especially not once the bench began to teeter to the side.
“Jesus,” I hissed, dropping the towel and rushing in to help him. I righted his seat and lifted him up by the armpits. A speck of blood had seeped through the shallow cut above his brow. I dabbed it away. “Are you okay?” I asked, looking him over and noticing what could have been a drop of cum in his pubic hairs. My eyes then went to the droplets working their way like sludge toward the drain.
“I don’t like you seeing me like this,” he panted. He seemed more ashamed than embarrassed, and I noted the way his shoulders hunched forward. “I must be a real turn on, huh?” He laughed darkly.
I switched the water temperature from hot to cold, to relieve some of the oppressive heat stifling us, while turning his words over in my head. Had my body’s reaction—or non-reaction—been the cause of his humiliation? I’d thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe now, more than ever, Leland needed to know he was still desirable. He needed to know he was seen as whole, full of vitality, and not a man made up of broken flesh and bone. Leland needed to know he was still capable of capturing my attention, even if he had no plans of doing anything with it once he had it.
“I’d had to nearly cut my tongue in half to keep my lust under control,” I said, and even now the taste of copper swam between my teeth.
“Oh yeah?” he asked with feigned indifference, examining the waterproof covering protecting his splint.
“It took extreme pain to not react to you, Leland. I promised not to make you uncomfortable, but I imagine that while you’re living here, my nights will end with me bringing myself to climax with the taste of your name on my lips. And even the nights that you aren’t here.”
Nothing about Leland’s situation was sexy to me. Not his pain nor the bruises I hadn’t inflicted with my own tongue, hands, and teeth. I could have lost him. Stepping outside of that restaurant for air and seeing the activity of people and first responders at the corner was like seeing my own life flash before my eyes. My priority now was seeing him back on his feet and, hopefully, earning his forgiveness. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still attracted to him; it just meant my attraction wasn’t my main focus. But what he needed now was the red-hot part of me that saw him and instantly wanted to tear him apart and swallow his cries, so I gave it to him. I’d give him any and everything.
“God, Leland. If I could slam you against that wall and take you right now, I would. I would fuck you for all the years I hadn’t been able to. For all the years I loved you and wasted that love on my pain. I would fuck you until you couldn’t see straight.”
He looked at me then, his expression probing, as if he thought maybe it was my pity for him talking. I unloosened the string of my trunks, then kicked out of them while keeping my eyes trained on him. “This is for you, Leland,” I whispered, holding on to my erection. “This isbecauseof you.”
Leland licked his lips. “It’s still so big,” he said in fascination, then his eyes widened as if he hadn’t meant that for my ears.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked around a huff of amusement.
“I heard it shrinks with old age.” He shrugged, and the mood felt lighter already.
“You’re going to pay for all these old-man jokes,” I warned, shaking a finger at him. A devilish smirk played around his lips, one I hadn’t seen in years. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, leaving my erection to be dealt with later.
“What’s that?” he asked, lifting one end of my now transparent tank when I bent to help him up.
“It’s a daisy,” I said as his fingers brushed along the tattoo taking over my flank, making me shiver. “You have one too.” An identical wildflower graced his upper back; its petals reached up and around the mound of his right shoulder. I’d noticed it while undressing him but hadn’t wanted to say or do anything to make bath time more awkward than it needed to be.
“What’s your story?” he asked.
“One lonely night stroll home from Cole’s place,” I said, “I came across a tattoo shop with flowers in the window. Seemed serendipitous. Do I even want to know your story?” I asked.
