Chapter 4

Under the circumstances, Jason considered that nobody'd blame him if he dropped a chunk of wood. Swung a hammer into the wrong wall. Stepped on Brad's foot.

He couldn't focus. Distracted.

Completely understandable distraction. Several other people were looking that way too.

The sight launched searing primal cravings into his head, his heart, his dick. All of him.

Colby in torn jeans and an old T-shirt and a hat and gloves. Colby with bare arms and hair tied back. Colby stepping in to attack a bathroom cabinet with a crowbar, while the muscles of his arms and back rippled.

Jason's entire body lit up. Electric. Rock-hard in his own jeans. Christ.

Colby was still pretty, because Colby would always be pretty: pointed chin, those cheekbones, huge eyes, a slimmer build than Jason or their sturdy contractor help. But this was Colby Kent reminding everyone that he was an athlete who'd been a seriously good competitive swimmer, that he could ride and fence and do physical stunts, that he was maybe a little too thin right now but made of tall lean elegant muscle that he knew how to use.

Colby paused. Dust streaked one cheek, and one arm, and his shirtsleeve. He grinned at Jason.

Jason's mouth was very dry.

"This is fun, isn't it," Colby said, "I see why you wanted to help," and listened while Bradley told him what to do next, which involved ripping out tile.

Colby got to work on that, with enthusiasm. A hint of sweat showed up under his shirt, along his hair. His arms were strong and somehow still graceful, taking apart old memories, stepping in to help build a new future.

Jason needed to kiss him. To throw both arms around him. To tackle Colby back into bed, or maybe just up against the wall, and get hands and mouth on him everywhere. To feel all the strength and all the muscles, visceral and dusty and sweaty and vital.

He wanted to feel Colby like this, to fuck Colby like this, bright and shining. Or maybe he wanted Colby to pin him down and fuck him, hard, just like this. With all that conviction.

Either. Both. Multiple rounds.

He considered Colby's preferences. Colby didn't top much, which Jason knew, but had said he wasn't opposed to trying again, sometime. Jason himself could be entirely open to options about what went where, as long as he got to have Colby like this, today, right here and immediately if possible.

Colby accepted a good-natured compliment from Brad's nephew Erik, with a laugh and a nod. Answered a question about books, sounding friendly.

London sunshine, pale and cloud-streaked, traced Colby's closest arm. It ran along slim strong muscle and the edge of his sleeve. His jeans were clearly older, ink-splashed and scuffed, and they stretched across his thighs as he shifted position.

Anything. Everything. Whatever Colby wanted. Jason would get down on both knees and beg.

He wondered how soon everybody'd leave for the day. And whether Colby would mind absolutely filthy half-dressed desperate up-against-the-wall sex.

Colby, who thought up a lot more innuendo than those innocent eyes would admit to aloud, probably wouldn't mind. Given considerate notice, and not being too rough, of course.

Other people had continued looking at Colby, with varying degrees of appreciation, lust, admiration for fluffy rom-com movie star Colby Kent getting his hands dirty. Jason didn't think of himself as possessive, really, and he tried not to be. He liked people being impressed by Colby. He knew Colby loved him.

He just wasn't sure he liked so many people visibly appreciating the moment when Colby stretched up to get to some shower tile and his shirt slid up, revealing a hint of his waist, inches of fair skin and flat stomach bared to the world.

It wasn't being jealous. It was only that Colby might not like being looked at too much. And Jason's job was to protect him. Obviously.

Colby, being Colby and therefore convinced that nobody found him all that interesting off-camera, did not appear to notice any looks. But he did stop to grin at Jason again. His eyes were extremely blue, and sparkling.

"Fun," Jason said, because he hadn't answered, before. "Yeah. Um. Very."

"It feels good. Satisfying."

Satisfying. In that voice, with Colby looking like that. Christ, again.

"Um. Good?"

Colby started to answer, stopped. Looked Jason up and down.

Then smiled, quick and happy. Framed by the detritus of the shower, dust still on his shirt, he lifted an eyebrow and just about knocked Jason flat. "You're clearly seeing something you like."

"Always," Jason said. "You."

"It's very mutual." Colby's eyes flicked down for a second—right to the now visible bulge in Jason's jeans—and then back up, not subtle. "Very. Perhaps I'll ask about keeping the gloves. Or the hard hat. And I can come over to see if you need any…work done for you, perhaps."

"Something erected," Jason said. "Something big."

"Oh, that was better than my line, you win. I'm happy to provide in-depth services for all your erection-related needs. That…personal touch."

"God," Jason said, "I fucking love you," and he meant it with his entire soul.

"I know," Colby said, "I love you, too," and ran a step or two over, kissed him—clumsy and swift, a collision of safety gear and dust in the air and a background chorus of wolf-whistles—and then bounced back to the tile, glowing.

Jason watched him for a second. Lust and love and admiration tangled into a giant iridescent blue emotion, all through his body, the color of Colby's eyes.

He picked up a hammer again, and got back to work. With satisfaction.

* * * *

Bradley and Karin and their crew left for the day at five; they'd come back early the following morning. Jason had enjoyed himself thoroughly; they'd fallen into easy conversations, catching up on mutual friends, Evan's stunt coordinator job on the giant superhero franchise, Mark's adopted babies. He'd expected a certain amount of teasing about his career taking off and his jump into historical gay dramatic roles, and there was some, but affectionately so. Brad and Karin were good people.

He knew—it wasn't a guess—that Colby liked them too. Colby had initially been welcoming and talkative in the way those blue eyes were with new people: perfectly nice, chattering about nothing, asking questions, covering up deep-seated anxiety with offers of tea and cranberry bread and readiness to give way on design ideas if someone else had another suggestion.

After a while—after calm unthreatening presence and some friendly jokes about Jason's shoulders versus the size of the flat—the talkativeness had become more real. Colby's shoulders had relaxed. He'd been less shy about likes and dislikes, and he'd contributed a joke or two, flattering toward Jason, which Jason appreciated.

Bradley's nephew Erik had left with a first-edition fantasy novel, cradled gingerly in a bag and tissue paper. He'd vowed to bring it back before they were finished, in perfect shape, flawless, he'd take such good care of it. Colby'd said, "Of course you will, you've been so marvelous all day, I know how much care you take with everything you touch!" and Erik had stared at him and said, "Colby fucking Kent, again, man," and Colby had begun laughing, so that was some sort of inside joke Jason hadn't heard, which was fine. It was making Colby happy.

New fixtures and lighting and tile would be arriving tomorrow. It'd be beautiful.

Right now everything was covered in plastic for the night, put to rest. Ready for more.

Demolition had gone spectacularly well. In all sorts of ways.

All in all, he thought, it'd been a good day.

He turned from examining the gutted bathroom. Colby was leaning against the wall, over plastic; he'd lost the safety gear but remained in smudged jeans, worn grey shirt, hat-flattened hair. As Jason watched, he put up a hand and pulled the hair-tie out, shaking his head, making waves pop back up.

Jason licked his lips, tasted dust and heat and lip balm, mint-laced.

Outside, the rain began again. It came in a low sweet patter, dark and rushing, trickling along glass and brick and stone and pavement.

Colby hooked both thumbs into jeans pockets, shifted weight, lounged against the wall: a portrait of disheveled deliberate temptation. "I do love rain."

Jason took one long step over to him, lifted his chin, and kissed him. Thoroughly. Fiercely.

Colby was laughing at first, but then murmured Jason's name and kissed him back: active, exploring, nibbling and licking and demanding more of Jason's mouth. Jason's dick, poised after a day of being at least half-hard and untouched, shot to attention.

Colby was at least as aroused, if not more; Jason could feel that, pressed against him. He had a hand on Colby's ass now, and kneaded, gripped, pulled Colby closer. That got another small noise of pleasure; Colby wriggled against him.

Jason kissed his ear, under the hair: traced the line of it, tasted the curve, bit lightly. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Colby tugged at his jeans. "Please. I want you—I want you inside me, like this, both of us—fuck me, Jason, please."

"Here?"

"Here. Now. Hard." Colby'd managed to undo Jason's jeans, to get a talented hand in, to stroke him and tug at him and pull him out. "Hard and fast and deep—I want to feel you. Fill me up with you."

"Fuck," Jason breathed, dizzy with need. Colby did talk during sex, but hardly ever like this: this assertive, this explicit. Taking charge and giving directions. "Fuck yeah, baby, yes—wait, we need lube, I'm not gonna—"

Colby put a hand into a jeans pocket. Took out a small tube. Wiggled it at him.

"How long have you had that—?"

"Oh, the last half hour or so. Waiting for everyone to leave. Starting to wonder whether they were planning to stay the whole night, in which case I'd have to drag you off to the guest bedroom on a flimsy pretext. Fortunately, however…" His eyes danced. The stripe of darker blue, the quirk of multilayered color that movie posters and magazines always flattened out, glinted. "We've got the flat to ourselves. And I've been having extremely detailed fantasies about you simply shoving my pants down and picking me up and pinning me against this wall."

"Oh, have you," Jason said, and practically ripped Colby's jeans open. He might've literally ripped them; he heard a tearing sound. Colby waved a hand, amused. "Go on, they're old anyway…and I, er, that was very…"

Jason tugged his briefs—crimson today, because Colby liked color—down too, exposing his cock: long and curved and attractively flushed with want. And already dripping, leaking, enough to slick Jason's hand. "You liked that, didn't you?"

"So many fantasies. So many." Colby's eyes met his, head on; Jason got it. Colby did have those fantasies—being claimed, being taken, by someone large and commanding—but only wanted them in reality because this was Jason, doing that with him. Because Colby trusted Jason, with his body and his heart and their home.

Such an honor. Such a fucking honor, being loved by Colby this way. Jason could've cried—the heat burned behind his eyes—but he was also just so damn happy, and turned on, and in love.

He took Colby's pretty cock in hand. Stroked him, not rough but definitely not as careful and sweet as usual. "Just tell me how you want me. All yours."

"Mmm. I like the sound of that." Colby arched into the caresses, breaths coming faster. "My Jason. Giving me everything I need, the way I need it. Touch me more."

"Like this?" More. Tighter, faster, Colby's shaft sliding through his hand. Both of them mostly dressed, jeans shoved down, shoes still on. Dust still decorated Colby's arm, an adornment.

Jason swiped a thumb over his tip, across the slit. Gathered wetness. Colby did always get wet for him, messy, when desperate with want. He liked it.

His own dick was begging for more. He adjusted their bodies, brought himself right up against Colby. Rubbing. Slick hand on them both.

Colby groaned his name, hands on Jason's shoulders for balance. And then dropped one hand to cover Jason's: joining in the stroking, adding weight.

"Jesus," Jason panted, hips jerking, "you—you—God, yeah, go on, please."

Colby grinned up at him, but said, "All mine, aren't you? I think I asked you for something," and squirmed, trying to spread his legs more, trapped by his jeans. "Let me just get these off—"

"And I can get you off?"

"Both of us." Colby kicked shoes and denim away into a heap. His shirt stayed on. "I want your hand. Fingers. Make me ready for you."

"Colby," Jason said, kind of desperately, "if you keep talking like that this's gonna be over pretty fucking quick—but keep talking, God, yes—"

"I told you I wanted quick." Colby lifted both eyebrows at him. "Hard and fast, I believe I said. Come here. In me. I love you."

"I love you so damn much." Lube, his fingers, Colby's body: his hand sliding back across intimate flesh, finding that opening, rubbing, pushing—Colby moving against him, and it was tight but easy, Colby wanting him and needing him and yielding for him—two fingers, three, more lube, stretching—

"Jason," Colby said, "now, please, you—that's good, that's so good, I want—" He broke off as Jason crooked the fingers inside him, found that spot, made him gasp. "Yes—that, more, with you—"

Jason hesitated a fraction, but only a fraction. Colby was open and ready, and would tell him if not; his heart pounded, and he needed to be buried in Colby's heat, and he'd never known Colby in quite this mood as far as sex, and fuck yes, now, love, yes.

He remembered what Colby'd asked for. Hard and fast. Giving him everything. He could do that.

The rain leapt, picking up speed.

He had Colby up against the wall; he had hands on Colby's delicious ass, and himself between those strong spread thighs. It didn't take much adjustment. A flex or two of muscles. And he had Colby in his arms, now: poised against his cock, back pressed to the wall.

"Yes," Colby told him, an order or a plea, legs around Jason's waist. "Yes."

Jason thrust up, and pulled Colby down onto his cock, hard. Sheathing himself.

Colby cried out, but it was a wild clear euphoric sound, and he shuddered and clenched around Jason; Jason groaned, slammed into him, pounded him, felt the velvet sweetness and saw the ecstasy in Colby's face and felt Colby's hands clutching him. His skin shivered, hyper-aware: the roughness of his own tugged-down jeans, not even fully removed; the worn material of Colby's shirt; the chill of the evening and the heat of their skin and sweat.

Again, once, twice, hard and deep—everything they both wanted—and, God, he was going to come, right there, too swift and brilliant to stop—

He got one hand on Colby's cock—he could brace the rest of Colby's slender weight with one arm and the wall and his body—and tugged, caressing roughly, clumsy with haste and need and shattering diamond waves. He thrust again, and that must've been exactly right, because Colby outright screamed his name, head falling back against the wall, cock pulsing, spurts of white landing across Jason's hand and his own shirt and up to his throat. His body tightened all over, and Jason's world went white and dazzling too, as he fell into the glory and poured himself out inside Colby.

Shuddering, shaking, he clung to Colby. Colby, legs around Jason's waist, held on tightly, panting against Jason's shoulder.

Rain skipped and twirled and bounced along the windowpanes, in the bedroom, in the plastic-sheeted bathroom. The evening celebrated, cool and watery and dim.

Colby said, against Jason's shoulder, "Oh, my."

For some reason this was utterly hilarious, and Jason burst out laughing, shaking with it. He didn't drop Colby—he'd never—but the motion was shaking Colby too, cradled against him.

Colby bit his shoulder lightly, no pressure. "I'd say we indeed achieved some sort of excellent erection?"

"Oh, totally…nice firm, um, structure…good support…" He rocked his hips into Colby's, both of them laughing now. "Strong foundations?"

"Yes," Colby said. He had both arms around Jason's neck, and they were both half-dressed and spent and tangled up in each other. The opened-up space of the bathroom beamed back at them in wood and plastic and sticky tape. Lights had come on out beyond the window, stars glimmering through rain. "Yes."

* * * *

A week later. Construction finished. Every detail tidied up, every covering peeled off. Every person and fixture and individual tile proud of their part in the work. English weather, sliding down over thick window-glass, peeked curiously in and approved.

Bradley and Karin and their team had just gone home, having left with satisfaction and Colby's banana bread and chocolate-chip cookies, and in young Erik's case a book-present. Well-earned.

Jason'd thanked them—not only monetarily, but personally—and would again, and probably again after that. This had meant…

It'd meant so much. More than anyone else could know.

He stood next to Colby. Gazed at what they'd helped design and bring to life. Drank it in.

He glanced over at Colby. Got lost in the expression there, the awe and delight.

Colby reached out. Took his hand.

Their flat's new bathroom beckoned exploration. It stretched brass and copper shelves and pipes up along one wall, and encircled the mirror in graceful oil-rubbed bronze. It tempted them to curl up in the huge copper tub by the ocean-hued shelf, or to run into the shower with the matching old-fashioned fixtures, which promised a shimmering rainfall or two. It murmured lazily about discoveries and clockwork and sea-voyages, dressed up in blue-green walls and lighter blue floor-tile and various embossed rails and racks.

The rain added to the magic. Cool and dripping, it trailed silver ribbons over the world and the windows and eaves beyond.

"It's beautiful." Colby turned Jason's direction. Barefoot, in tight jeans—grey today—and a cozy sweater the color of rich berries, he fit right in against the backdrop. A sea-nymph, with saucer-eyes and drifting cocoa-wave hair. "It's everything we imagined and picked out, of course—but it's more. It's real."

"It's perfect," Jason said, looking at him.

"I could live here. Or explore the world's oceans in a nineteenth-century submarine." Colby took a step in, tugging Jason after him. "I can't even recall how it used to look. It's all this, now."

"Good."

Colby turned on a tap, regarded the flow of water into the sink as if seeing a marvel: wrought in oil-rubbed bronze and marble. "I love it. Even the handles on these drawers have such detail…the same pipe design, with rivets…oh, and that clock, with the gears, above the built-in shelf…and the sea-glass in the shower…"

"Like a story," Jason said. "I'd read it. I'd want to know all about it, the world, the artisans, the clockmakers, the plumbers' guild who take such pride in their work…" The Wizards Wyverns Game Master in his soul was jumping up and down with glee. In a top hat. With a brass telescope in one hand.

Colby was trailing fingertips along a shelf, which thrilled to his touch. Industrial but cozy, the bronze and wood all but purred at the recognition. "You'd be in it. The dashing nautical submersible captain. With your own private stateroom and washroom."

"Shared with my favorite adorable passenger." Jason reached out, gathered Colby back to him. Put both arms around him just to hold on. "And only him. Our stateroom and washroom."

"A privilege." Colby batted long eyelashes at him. "I'm honored, captain. I hope I can provide…adequate compensation for such a favor."

"More than adequate. Because you're not just a passenger, you're my navigator or natural scientist or chronicler for our voyage. All of the above." In his arms, Colby still felt too light, too thin—sharpness in his cheekbones, in his jawline, against the fluff of the sweater and the chill of London rain—but he'd put on a little more weight, so that was getting better.

It really was. Like a few other things might be. Reconstruction, with a smile.

Colby was smiling. And took a small step back, found the hem of his own sweater, and began pulling it up and off. Berry-hued knit made his head disappear, momentarily.

"Colby," Jason said, unsure exactly where this was going, but hoping.

Colby emerged from the sweater and his heather-grey undershirt. Now bare to the waist, hair ruffled, he dropped clothing onto the side of the freestanding copper tub, over decorative rivets. "I think I'd like to test our new shower. Care to join me?"

Jason's mouth had gone dry. Colby shirtless, lean and smooth and graceful…the line of his hips, his fingers nimbly unfastening those clinging jeans…that damn freckle near his collarbone, the one Jason always wanted to lick…

Colby did a sinuous hip-wiggle to peel off skinny-cut denim, not trying to be seductive but unconsciously adorable. He'd put on an older pair of clinging briefs that morning, a pair Jason recognized from a very early encounter: sea-blue, and soft, and either flirtatious or comforting or both.

At the moment Colby was also sort of half-hard, visibly so. Which made sense: those big blue eyes clearly had something in mind, but the emotions must be complicated.

Colby paused, expression hopeful. Old-fashioned electric bulbs glowed orange and inviting behind his head, a halo. "You don't have to, of course, but I did have an idea, and I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind?"

"I love you having ideas," Jason said, and yanked his own shirt off and shoved down his jeans and boxers, clumsy with haste, too fast for any matching kind of elegance. His dick bounced, up and excited; couldn't help that, not with Colby near-naked and right there. But Colby looked happy about that, so that was all right. "Tell me what to do."

Colby's eyes danced. He lost the last scrap of clothing, then—Jason swallowed—and took a step into the shower. Framed by oceanic tile—pale blue, aquamarine, cerulean, indigo—and sea-glass stripes and hanging bronze, he might've been a sea-creature himself. His toes were graceful and bare against brand-new tile, first footprints on a pebbled sea-floor.

He flipped on the water, naked. And then yelped. "I don't know why I expected that to be warmer—!"

Jason, snickering, stepped in and bent close and scooped him up for protection. "Not part of your natural scientist's training?"

Colby scrunched up that nose at him, not seriously. "Such newfangled technology. Astonishing." The water, in apology, got hotter. It splashed along Jason's back and into Colby's hair, flattening chocolate waves.

"I like this floor," Colby added, glancing down at it. Jason's arms stayed around him. "It looks comfortable."

"Comfortable?"

"Oh yes," Colby told him, and knelt, right there on both knees at Jason's feet, on sand-pebble shower-tile while the water sluiced through his hair and drops painted his cheek.

He looked up at Jason, like that. Devout and beautiful, face upturned, lips parted and pink.

Jason's heart shook as if each water-drop was an earthquake. His body yearned, stiffened, ached; his dick was inches from Colby's mouth.

He put out a hand, gradually; he touched Colby's cheek. Smudged a droplet with his fingertip.

"I want to," Colby said. "I'm yours, and I want to taste you, and then I want you to make love to me, so I can feel you inside me. So I'm completely filled up with you. I love you, Jason."

"God," Jason breathed. "Yes—I love you, Colby, yes." He didn't ask whether Colby was sure—he trusted those wide blue eyes—but he did say, because he had to, "Tell me you'll stop me, if you need to. Promise me you'll say it."

"I promise." Colby didn't ask why Jason was asking for that, either; they both understood. "Stoplights for checking in, if you ask. Cherries, for stop everything now. Tapping your thigh if I can't talk." He even demonstrated: one-two-three, quick and clear against Jason's leg. "I think, though…I think I'll be very much all right. I like it down here."

"Do you?" Jason stroked his hair, cautious about it—no force, no pushing—but knowing that Colby loved being touched, cherished, shown affection. "You like being on your knees for me, baby?" Colby did, though not entirely confident in his own skills; he liked pleasing Jason, and got flustered about praise.

"Yes," Colby said, "yes, Jason, I do," and then leaned forward to kiss the tip of Jason's cock, shyly but with obvious desire. His arousal was plainer now, shaft full and long, upright between his thighs.

"Good," Jason said softly, "I like that too, I want you, Colby, I want you to open up and let me use that sweet mouth, the way you want me to, so you can feel me and taste me. I want you to touch yourself, too. But don't come."

Colby nodded, and then said, "Yes, sir." His eyes were big and warm and eager, unafraid; he obediently put a hand on his own cock, and then made a small sound.

"Good?"

"Yes. I, er, may not last long. Everything feels very…new." Colby kissed Jason's shaft again, then mouthed at it, licking, scattering kisses, water sliding down his face. "I want you."

"Mine," Jason said. "You come when I let you." He paused, added, "Of course I'll let you. I want you to feel good, baby, always. Just making sure you know you're mine, all of you."

"Yes," Colby murmured, and then took him in, mouth sliding down over Jason's dick. Sweet wet heat shivered along the length, and through all of Jason's senses. Colby's mouth, the steam, the rush of water, the thumping of his heart. The luscious submission and trust kneeling here before him, open for him.

He inadvertently tightened his grip on Colby's hair. No objection came. In fact, Colby moaned around his girth, and sucked harder. And Colby's hand sped up, on his own length.

"So good," Jason panted, "so sweet, my Colby," and thrust: holding Colby's head, pumping in and out, not too hard but taking over control, not rough but in charge now. Colby's hips jerked, hand busy. His eyes began looking softer, dreamy, euphoric.

"You love this," Jason said to him, for him, for them. "Being mine, feeling it…you wanted to taste me, you said, and you can, can't you…" He knew his dick was leaking, dripping, ready; he felt the caress of Colby's tongue, as he thrust deeper. "You'll feel me everywhere, baby, your pretty mouth and your throat, and you want that, don't you? You want to know you belong here with me."

Colby moaned again, sound muffled by Jason's dick, back arching. His expression wasn't the deepest most transcendent form of subspace—too awake for that, aware of the moment and the setting and the significance—but his body grew more pliant, malleable, settled into the comfort of submission and surrendered to Jason's care.

Jason licked his lips, tasted shower-spray and steam. One more deep slow plunge, all of himself, buried to the hilt now. Colby's plush pink mouth stretched open around him, and Jason's length pushed down into his throat.

Colby didn't gag or choke, gone too soft and sweet and yielding for that. Only gazed up at him, Jason's cock down his throat, Jason's hand in his hair. Colby's other arm was clinging to Jason's leg, no signals, only support.

Jason's dick pulsed. Throbbed. Spilled a brief white-hot possessive spurt. Colby couldn't swallow well, like this, though he tried. Water ran down through his hair, along his face; he'd kept on playing with his own cock, rubbing and stroking and teasing himself, because Jason had told him to.

Jason managed a ragged breath. Drew back, just his tip resting against Colby's lips. Colby coughed, gulped in air, trembled.

Jason said, quietly, "Color, baby."

Colby coughed again, cleared his throat, did something between a wince and a contented hum. "Green. Oh, that felt….that's carried on feeling…sparkly. Light on water. Through rain." His voice came out scuffed around the edges, fairytale castles battered but beaming.

"Breathe for me," Jason said.

"I'm fine. I liked it. Sorry, sorry, not arguing, I promise. I'd've stopped you if I needed to. I'm breathing. As ordered."

"Hmm."

"I'm yours," Colby said. "Every raindrop."

"You want me to fuck you, you said?"

"I do. Come inside me, fill me up with you, let me feel you dripping out of me. Right here, like this."

Jason touched Colby's shoulders, helped him stand. Colby was shaky, despite protests of being fine; it was the good kind of shaky, though, Jason thought. From want, and arousal, and need.

Colby looked at him, smiling; and then took a step back up against the shower wall, and deliberately raised both hands. Over his head.

"Oh," Jason said, "oh, you want me to—" and stepped in and got a big hand around both slender wrists, pinning them to the wall. Colby made an ecstatic noise and curled one long leg around Jason; Jason, given that encouragement, held him more securely, employed weight and breadth, and got his other hand on Colby's dripping cock, gripping him and pumping him hard.

Colby practically shrieked his name, and rocked against him, more slick spilling out under Jason's ministrations. Jason kissed him, claiming the sounds, and made sure that his hand over Colby's wrists was tender, a loose pressure, acknowledgement that Colby would only need a simple motion to break away.

Sometimes, for Colby, even this amount of being held down wasn't okay. It might not be, on other occasions. Jason knew that; they both knew. Not linear, not magically better all at once, ghosts banished and never rising again. But now, in this moment—

Colby was asking for this. Joyously, happily, without fear.

And right now his hand on Colby's wrists was fucking perfect. Exactly right: this, them, wild and radiant and unrestrained. Drenched in steam and heat and want. The new tile felt amazing under his feet, and Colby felt like heaven against him, all his, caught safely and held fast.

"Please," Colby was begging, "please, Jason, please—in, in me, I need you," and Jason stopped teasing his cock in order to slide fingers back between the curves of his ass, and then stopped, having a moment of panic.

"We do have lube," Colby said promptly. "When I put everything in here—that corner shelf—"

"You're a fucking genius and I love you. Don't move." He dove for the corner shelf. Colby had indeed put lube in their shower, along with their shampoo and soap and everything else. It was expensive lube. Silky. A new bottle, but unsealed and ready for use. Jason was in love with the best and most clever person in the world.

He spun back. Colby hadn't moved, a portrait of naked decadence spread out against aquatic tile. Jason said, "You're so beautiful—so fucking beautiful, baby, everything, all of you," and Colby blushed, pinker than the steam-flush to his fair skin.

Jason kissed him, long and thoroughly, with tongue, and put a hand back between his legs. Rubbing, searching, finding his sweet hungry hole and getting him nice and wet and ready. Fingers, one and two and three, pushing, pumping. Coaxing him more and more open, as Colby made all kinds of delicious pleading sounds and pushed back against him, asking for more.

The angle would be difficult, like this, face to face. Jason considered just picking Colby up again, holding him, but things were getting slippery now. And this needed to go well.

He hesitated, as much as he wanted to bury himself in that lush body and feel Colby all around him.

Colby hesitated too. Then shifted, turned: hands against the shower tile, back arched, letting Jason fuck him from behind.

Jason, frozen between needs and desires, breathed, "You don't like…not being able to…"

Colby, impressively flexible, twisted to look over his shoulder. "I can see you like this. I want you in me. And everything here is us. It all feels like us. It's wonderful, so please fuck me like this, under the ocean, in all the waves. Make me come like this. Please."

"God," Jason said, "God, yes, Colby, yes," and moved, came up against him, held him, pushed into him: inch by inch, so slow, so gentle and inexorable, as Colby's body gave way for him.

Colby whimpered, quivering; his hands curled against kelp-purple tile-swirls. But he was still looking back over his shoulder at Jason, and his cock was dripping, Jason discovered when fondling him: hard and hot and overflowing with need.

"Like this," Jason whispered, and kissed him, angle awkward, heart slamming against his breastbone. "Come for me, baby, whenever you need to, whenever you feel it, just feel it for me, feel good for me, I want you to feel so good, Colby, I love you."

Colby clenched around him, a velvet sheath. Jason groaned, and moved, because he couldn't not; he had to, had to move, had to plunge into Colby's warmth again and again, so deep, so good—

Colby was moaning and gasping and shuddering under him, pressed to the wall and noisily helplessly coming apart, sobbing Jason's name. Jason kissed his shoulder, the nape of his neck—bit lightly, teeth and tongue and care, no pain but firmness, a clear bright affirmation—

Colby cried out, high and wild and enchanted, and came instantly. His entire body went taut and tight, and his cock spilled wave after wave of sticky heat over Jason's hand, and against the tile, splashing and dripping down. The spasms went on and on, and Jason stroked him through it, which made Colby sob his name and twitch and tremble and come some more, lost in bliss.

Jason felt it, felt every ripple and release, where he was buried deep inside. He couldn't wait, he couldn't hold back, as Colby came on his cock and his hand; and he heard himself groan, slamming in and out, once more, twice, until the world broke apart in glorious water-drenched crystals, diamond-edged, bursting.

He poured himself out inside Colby, and heard Colby's wordless answering sound of pleasure, dimly, through the haze of light. He kissed every part of Colby he could reach.

His legs began arguing about balance, after. He held onto Colby, who wasn't in any better shape, and got them both sitting down on the nice flat bench, in the back. He heard his own heartbeat thumping in his ears, and he cradled Colby in his lap, touching everyplace, needing to feel Colby with hands and kisses and all of himself.

Colby was quiet at first, pulse rapid, head falling against Jason's shoulder; but after a second he kissed Jason's collarbone, a vague uncoordinated nuzzle, openmouthed, tasting Jason's skin. And then he said, sounding exhausted and exhilarated, "Even my toes are full of raindrops, now."

"Sparkly?" Jason rubbed his back. "Like light on water, you said."

"Mmm. Sea salt and waves and storms. Everything happy to be alive. I love our shower, it's a perfect historical fantasy ocean, I love oceans. Water in general. Water's lovely. You're lovely."

"You mean you are," Jason said, and traced his eyebrow with a blunt fingertip. "I love our shower too." He did.

"Er…" Colby lifted his head enough to look at where they'd been standing. "Some clean-up may be in order. And perhaps an apology to that tile. Good heavens."

"No apologies," Jason said. "That's exactly what it was hoping for."

"Oh, was it? Well, then, I'm very glad." Colby's eyes found Jason's, blue and entertained. He leaned against Jason more, amid heat and light and drops.

In a moment they'd need to get up and get out. They'd been in here a while, and they'd need to clean up, and Jason would dry Colby off and bundle him up in softness and take care of him, the way they both wanted.

The way Jason's heart craved. The way Colby took care of him in turn, with brilliant words and serious wholehearted trust and hope for the future.

A premiere, an opening. Like their upcoming film, which would be so fantastically good. Jason knew that in his bones, beyond doubt. A historical tale, a romance, retold with love. A happy ending.

Built anew. Reconstructed. Full of raindrops and sparkles.

He thought vaguely about making coffee. Colby liked coffee. And the weather was good for that. So very, very good.

Coffee—and cozy blankets and some leftover cranberry bread, maybe with cream cheese—could wait another minute, though. Right now, right here, he and Colby fit together. Encircled by swirling designs and rich colors and shimmering bronze details to discover.

Colby added, "This is everything I could've hoped for, as well, you know," smiling at him, wide and wonderful, as if the joy was too much to keep inside.

"Everything," Jason said, "and more," and stroked a wet dark curl of hair away from Colby's right eye, and bent to kiss him again, while water leapt from gleaming steampunk-fantasy pipes and splashed merrily all around.

THE END