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If there was any chance of Travis arguing, it disappears when Carter starts kneading the muscles of his shoulders with his sudsy hands. Travis’s eyes flutter closed as his body relaxes completely. He’s almost in a trance, so fucking relaxed and warm and in love, before he notices Carter’s bottom lip has curled out in a pout. He raises his hand and weakly tugs at the pouty lip with his thumb. “Don’t be sad. Please don’t be sad. What’s wrong?”
“I’m not tall enough to wash your hair.”
The answer startles a laugh out of Travis. Then an idea. “I could kneel for you.”
Carter’s eyes go comically wide. “That’s - you can’t - that’d be-”
“Do you want to wash my hair?” Travis asks. The boy blushes and nods. Travis sinks to his knees, hiding a wince when the tile digs into his knee caps. Guilt hovers in the back of his mind as he realizes this is what Carter must have felt every time he was forced to kneel on a hard floor, but he shoves the guilt away to be dealt with later. This moment is too good to let it be ruined. “Wash my hair, Carter.”
Biting his lip, unknowingly making Travis’s cock start to harden, the boy fills his palm with shampoo and rubs his hands together. Then he reaches down and runs his fingers through Travis’s messy hair. His movements are slow. Gentle. He rubs his scalp in small circles. Travis tries to watch him, tries to appreciate how goddamn beautiful the boy is, but then his eyes grow heavy and he can’t keep them open any longer. He thinks maybe he’s moaning. It feels so fucking good. So fucking relaxing.
This is exactly what he needed.
But what does Carter need? Probably not to be awake at 3 AM, showering, taking care of his rapist.
You kept him, didn’t you?
Travis jerks back, nearly falling.
“Woah there,” Carter says, his laugh soft and beautiful. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Travis shoves to his feet. Soap is burning his right eye. He keeps it squeezed shut, using his left to get under the water. Carter moves out of his way, frowning. Travis ignores him as he quickly washes the soap away.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Travis rubs furiously at his hair, determined to get all the soap out as quickly as possible. “Just - it’s late.”
“Oh. Right…”
Travis decides his hair is rinsed enough. He rubs a hand down his face, getting rid of extra soap and water and clearing away his stinging eye. Then he moves out of the spray and grabs the curtain. “You ready to get out? Or did you need to wash up too?”
Carter looks like he’s been slapped, but then he pulls down a mask and straightens his features into something uncaring. “We can get out. Sure.”
“Great.” Travis nearly slips, he gets out so fast. He hears Carter turn the water off behind him. There are towels folded neatly on the shelving above the toilet. He grabs one, quickly wrapping it around his waist, then grabs another and hands it to Carter without meeting his eye.
“Thanks,” Carter mumbles.
Travis is in the middle of debating if he should walk through the house in just his towel, or if he should pull on his dirty clothes, when he recognizes something on the floor. “Is that my sweatshirt?”
He can feel the way Carter tenses behind him. “Well… okay, yes, technically it is.”
Travis turns, raising an eyebrow. “Technically?”
Carter is bright red. He fumbles with his towel, looking anywhere but at Travis. “I mean, you left it in my room, so… finders, keepers?”
“Finders, keepers? Really?”
“Yes.” Carter nods, sounding more confident. He even flashes Travis a nervous grin. “That’s what I’m sticking with.”
“Darn. I thought maybe you were wearing it because you missed me.”
Carter nibbles on his bottom lip. “I might have missed you a little bit.”
“Yeah?” Travis asks, feeling like he might float away.
“Yeah.”
Travis clings to his towel to keep from reaching for the boy in front of him. “I might have missed you too. A little bit.”
