Felix was standing just beyond the thin curtain, framed by the simple divider like he'd been etched there—one shoulder barely brushing against the fabric's edge, his fingers twirling in that shy, nervous kind of way that looked so innocent it should've been illegal.
My chest gave this traitorous little catch—one of those tight squeezes right under the ribs that made you forget you were supposed to be breathing. I turned toward him, too fast, my bare feet slick on the tile.
Naturally, gravity decided to assert its dominance.
My heel shot out from under me, arms windmilling in a desperate display of aquatic ballet, and then—whump—I hit the floor flat on my back. The impact sending a cold splash of bathwater right up my spine, which, in case you were wondering, is a very sexy sensation if you're into feeling like you've been licked by a ghost.
So there I was—spread out, dripping, and staring up at him like the tragic heroine of a soap opera who'd just fainted in the rain.
He squeaked. A real, honest-to-gods, high-pitched squeak. Then his hands flew up to his face like he could hide behind them, even though I could already see the blush creeping past his knuckles. I couldn't help it—I started laughing. That sort of bubbling, helpless giggle you only get when you've already embarrassed yourself and decided to double down.
Then, cautiously, he moved toward me, his steps slow and careful, like he was afraid the floor might betray him too. Each step made the faintest slap on the wet tile, a sound that seemed to echo straight into my spine. I could smell him before I could properly see him—soap and steam curling together with something softer, warmer, like sunlight caught in linen.
It hit me low and deep, that scent, an uninvited rush that made my chest feel too tight for my ribs. My brain scrambled for something clever, something sharp, but all I could focus on was the way the steam clung to his hair, turning every golden strand into a thread of molten light.
He reached a hand down, all polite and tentative, his fingers just brushing mine. And I don't know—maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way my pulse was thrumming like a trapped bird—but instead of letting him pull me up, I caught his wrist, tugged, and let him fall just enough for me to pull him into a kiss. My lips met his with the reckless certainty of someone who'd already lost the game but wanted to see how far they could drag it out.
"Mmph~" he muffled, the sound wet and startled, lips pressed tight against mine like he was trying not to be caught mid-surprise, a soft smush of skin sliding over skin punctuating the moment.
It wasn't much. Just the lightest press—feather-soft, quick enough to be an accident if I wanted to lie about it later—but I let my lips linger in a way that made it very, very clear that it wasn't. Just enough to spark the fuse, to see if he'd light.
He pulled back and then froze. His eyes stayed on mine for a long, breathless heartbeat. Then his gaze dipped—slowly, hesitantly—as though gravity itself was tugging it down. His eyes landed on my cock. And I swear, I felt the shift in the air between us.
The tiniest flicker of heat pulsed in his expression. His lips parted, just a little, and when his eyes came back up to meet mine, there was something new there—something pleading, something dangerous in how quiet it was.
I didn't say a word. I didn't have to.
He dipped lower, closing the space until the humid air between us became shared breath. His hand rose, fingers hovering just shy of my cock, like he was waiting for permission or maybe daring himself to steal it. Then—gods help me—he began touching it. Lightly at first, fingertips dragging slow, deliberate lines along the curve, mapping it like it was some holy relic he'd only read about.
Felix's breath ghosted over the length of my dick, warm and damp, a perfect contrast to the cool steam rolling off the tiles. His cheek pressed against it, the soft skin molding to my shape in a way that made my knees want to betray me. Then his fingers joined in, curling, squeezing, drawing lazy, maddening circles that had me clenching my teeth.
"Hah~! H-Holy fuck," I said, the air catching in my throat, my body reacting before my brain could even file the paperwork.
He didn't rush. Oh, no. He was deliberate. Slow, slow enough to make me want to scream at him to do anything but that. The kind of slow that pulls a person apart thread by thread.
I could feel the wet heat of his breath traveling through me like a warning. My eyes slid shut, my pulse hammering in my ears. He tilted his head, gave me one long, unreadable look—and then, without breaking it—pulled his hair back with one hand.
And that's when his lips wrapped around the tip of my cock.
"Ugh~Oh gods~" The words tumbled out half-gasp, half-prayer, my voice already cracking like I'd been running uphill for miles. I could hear my own pulse in my ears now, a rapid th-thump th-thump drowning in the wet little slurping of his mouth.
It was a soft seal, testing, like a taste taken before committing to a meal. My breath hitched hard enough to make my chest ache. He worked in small motions—pulling back, teasing with the edge, dragging his tongue until every nerve was awake and rioting.
He was playing with me. I knew it. He knew I knew it.
But I wasn't about to let him win that game.
I slid my hand up, threading through his golden hair, and pressed—gently at first, then with a steady, insistent pressure—guiding him further down the length of my penis. The steam swirled around us, clinging to our skin, amplifying every sound, every faint hitch of breath.
Felix gave the tiniest little choke, his throat tightening around me, before adjusting—settling into the motion with a surprising ease that made my stomach twist with want.
My other hand found the back of his head. And then, in one, sharp, unbroken thrust, I pulled him all the way down.
The sound he made was wet, raw, and filthy—half-swallowed in the steam, half echoing off the tile. The rhythm built until there was nothing but heat, humidity, and the slick sound of movement between us. His lashes fluttered, his cheeks flushed deep, and his fingers dug faint half-moons into my hips.
A low, muffled "mmnnhh~… nghhhh~" hummed against me, vibrating in a way that nearly buckled my legs. Every pull and push came with a sloppy shlk-shlk-shlk and the faintest suction schlrrrp as he drew back just to sink down again.
"F-Felix—ah~… gods, you're—nghh, you're gonna kill me," I gasped, my voice breaking into a breathless laugh before twisting into a groan.
And then my release hit me like a sucker punch.
It tore through me in hot, pulsing waves, spilling my cum into his mouth with a sudden, overwhelming rush. I could feel it—really feel it—every thick, molten ribbon of my semen pouring down his throat, coating the heat of his tongue before spilling deeper.
Felix whimpered through it, the noise muffled and desperate, and I swear I felt it vibrate through every inch of me. Beneath the wet sounds of slick movement and shallow breaths, I caught a low, wet gurgling—a strange, almost helpless sound bubbling up from his throat, like a secret trapped beneath the surface, struggling to escape but held tight by the weight of the moment. Just then my cum, hot and thick, began slipping past his lips still sealed tight around the base of my cock, trailing slowly downward in a gleaming string that pooled around my thighs.
Then I let go, my grip sliding free of his hair. He rocked back violently, coughing, catching his breath in shuddering little gasps. A slick, pearly string of my mess clung stubbornly to the corner of his mouth, trembling with every shaky inhale before gravity finally won, sending it sliding down in a slow, glossy drip that hit the tile with a quiet plop.
He paused, tongue flicking hesitantly over his lips as the taste hit him—thick, salty, and raw—his eyes fluttering momentarily with surprise and something softer, almost shameful. Then, with a quiet, resigned gulp, he swallowed it down, the sound small but definitive, sealing that moment between us in silence.
I froze for a heartbeat, the reality of what I'd just done slamming into me like a cold wave. The rush, the heat, the raw pull of it all—gone in an instant, replaced by a sharp twist of guilt in my gut.
"Felix, I—" I started, words tumbling over themselves, my voice low and almost frantic. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" But before I could spiral, he giggled—light, quick, and so sweet it was almost sin.
His cheeks were dusted pink, his eyes half-hidden beneath golden lashes, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. My heart melted. That boyish flush, that shy curl at the edge of his lips—it was too much for me to handle. But before I could get lost in it all, his gaze sharpened, his breath catching in something far more deliberate.
Slowly, he shifted forward, still on his knees, and climbed onto me—one smooth, tentative motion that left him hovering over my lap. My cock was still aching, slick from the mess between us, shining faintly in the dim light. Felix glanced down at it, swallowed hard, then brought himself closer, lowering his hips until the warmth of his ass barely brushed against me.
"F–Felix, gods, please don't tease me like that—fuck, I can't—" The words tumbled out before I could catch them, my voice already breaking into a ragged edge, breath shivering like I'd lost the ability to control any part of me.
He let out a quiet, unsteady sound, the kind that made the air between us pulse. My hands found his without thinking, our fingers lacing together tight, grounding each other in that suspended moment.
He closed his eyes—tight, almost bracing—before he began to sink down onto me, inch by aching inch, the slow, wet schlkk and shhhhlrp of it winding its way up my spine until my teeth clenched just to keep from groaning loud enough for the whole bathhouse to hear.
The second he took me in fully, his eyes snapped open and then—
"Hahhh~!" he sounded, a long, shuddering sigh spilling from his lips, the noise threading through my body like silk. My grip on his hands tightened instinctively; a soft, breathy moan escaped me before I could even think to catch it, raw and unguarded against the humid air.
Felix began to move, slow and careful, the slick mix of soap, water, and what we'd left behind easing the rhythm. The sloppy sounds of squelching melted into the air, mingling with a string of soft, desperate moans coming from Felix—mmphh... ahh~, ugh... gahhh~!—each one trembling with arousal. With every subtle shift, another gleaming strand of our earlier mess stretched taut between our thighs, then snapped softly with a wet plop before pulling tight again, weaving a slick, intimate soundtrack to the slow, delicious rhythm building between us.
I was close to cumming—too close—my chest tight, my breath uneven. I nearly let go, nearly drowned in it, but then I forced myself back.
"Felix—get off," I managed, voice low but sharp.
He froze, pouting up at me in this ridiculously adorable way that almost broke my resolve. Then, reluctantly, he rose, the slow slide away from me ending in a soft shlik that made him gasp.
We both stood, steam curling around us, water still dripping down in lazy rivulets. Felix cocked his head at me, confusion in the tilt of his brows, like he couldn't quite understand why I'd stopped him.
Then I smirked, that dangerous little curl of the mouth that always meant trouble, before—without even thinking—sliding one arm around his waist and pivoting him in a single, fluid motion. Suddenly, Felix's back was pressed to my chest, his palms bracing the wall for balance, his soft frame catching perfectly in the cage of my arms.
He gasped, sharp and startled, the kind of sound that made something primal in me twitch. I let my cock rest just shy of his ass, rolling the tip in slow, deliberate circles. Not enough to breach, not enough to satisfy—just enough to make him feel exactly what I was holding back.
"My turn to take the reins," I murmured into his ear, my voice low and almost feral. My breath ghosted hot across his skin, and I felt him shiver. My hips rolled a fraction harder, letting the blunt head of me drag against him with a slick, maddening slide. "You're mine now. You hear me?"
He gave a faint, shaky noise, but I wasn't done. My lips brushed the curve of his ear as I whispered, raw and unfiltered, "Do you want me to stuff you full with my cock? You want me to pour myself into you 'til you're dripping down your thighs like the pretty little slut you are?"
A faint whimper slipped from him, high and breathy, before he gave the smallest nod, his knees dipping in surrender. I could practically hear the silent words in his head: please.
And then—without warning—I shoved my cock forward until I was buried deep in the core of him. The wet slap of skin on skin began echoing in the steamy air, each connection thick and sticky, blending with his muffled cry, "Hhnnghh~!"
"Yeah… that's it," I breathed against his ear, voice low and ragged. "Such a good boy… taking my filthy little cock like a well-bred whore. You feel that? Every inch… right where it belongs." My grip on his hips tightened, dragging him back into me until he gasped.
At first, I moved slow, each push deliberate, each slide followed by a pause long enough to make him squirm and whine, "mmhh~ ahhh~" under his breath. My hands stayed firm on his hips, feeling every flinch and shiver of his body travel through him. But with every little sound he made, every trembling exhale, every wet slap of our bodies meeting, something in me cracked wider. Huff... Huff... Huff. My breath grew heavier, my voice rough in his ear as I began to pick up pace, my dick ramming home with sharper, needier intent.
The rhythm turned a messy, desperate—fap-fap-fap—with each thrust punctuated by the squelch of water and heat. His cries grew higher, wetter, his breath catching between moans, "Ahhh~! Hahhh~ ffff—" And beneath it all, the steam couldn't hide it—I could smell him now. That sweet, dizzying wave of his arousal rolling off him in thick, intoxicating pulses, hitting my senses like a drug.
I leaned forward, my lips grazing the shell of his ear. "You're so fucking cute," I murmured.
He shuddered like I'd fed the words straight into his gut. I started to play him like an instrument—every tiny shift in speed, every change in angle, wringing out a new note from his mouth. But any sense of composure I'd had before was long gone. My hands gripped his wrists now, yanking him back into each thrust until his chest hit the wall with a soft thud every time we connected.
Felix's forehead rested against the cool tile now, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth, splattering on the floor below, his cute little cock swaying helplessly beneath our motions. He was crying now, tears streaking his cheeks, but his smile—ragged, trembling—never wavered.
Through the broken noises he made, a word began to form. "I lov—"
My heart lurched, a violent, twisting pull in my chest that nearly knocked the air out of me. My eyes went wide, panic clawing at the edges of my voice as I shook my head against his shoulder.
"Don't—" The word broke, ragged and low. "Please, Felix… don't say it. Not right now, I can't—" My grip tightened, my breath coming fast. "You don't know what that'll do to me… I swear, if you say it—"
But he only sniffled, his breath hitching, and I could feel the tremor in his body. His head turned just enough for his lips to graze the air between us, and then the words spilled out, soft but unstoppable.
"I love you."
Just then, something in me snapped. I trust into him violently, one final push—deep and desperate—before I began flooding into him with a sharp cry. The sound he made in return was almost a song, a long, drawn-out whimper that seemed to melt right into my skin. I pulsed again, tighter this time, my grip firm on him as if I could anchor us both through the wave.
And then he released himself.
The first burst of his cum hit the wall in front of him with an audible splat, thick strings of it clinging to the surface before gravity dragged them down in slow, glistening ribbons. A second pulse followed almost instantly—thwppk—splattering right beside the first. His body jerked with each release, every muscle in his back going taut beneath my hands.
A third shot came as he moaned ughhhhh~, weaker but still thick, landing lower on the wall before smearing into the wet tile. He gasped, trembling, and then, Mnngh~! a fourth release dribbled out in a slower, heavier strand, barely more than a creamy bead, slipping down the head of his cock and pooling at the base before mingling with the mess already slicking his thighs.
When his cock finally softened, the tension in his body bled out all at once and a different kind of heat began to trickle down his leg, weaving toward the drain in a thin, shy trail.
Felix froze, the realization hitting him a split second too late. Then his ears went scarlet, his shoulders curling forward as if he could fold himself out of existence. "Uwah~" he stammered, voice breaking, his hands instinctively trying to shield himself even as the water betrayed him, carrying the thin stream away.
He wouldn't meet my eyes—his chin dipped, lashes wet and trembling, his lips pressed together in a tight, humiliated little line. Even with steam curling around us, I could feel the heat radiating from his flushed skin. Then, out of nowhere, a tiny, involuntary hiccup slipped from him—small, startled, and so absurdly cute it cut straight through the tension like a knife.
The haze shattered. I stepped back quickly, stammering apologies, my chest still heaving.
"Felix—holy fuck… gods, I'm so sorry, I—" The words tangled on my tongue, spilling out too fast. "I didn't mean to— I just—fuck, I lost it—" My voice cracked halfway through, that sharp edge of panic seeping in. "Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."
Felix glanced over his shoulder, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy—then giggled. Just giggled, before collapsing to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
I rushed to catch him, pulling him upright again, only to realize—
Oh fuck.
Half the bathhouse was peering over the dividers—eyes wide, mouths open, some slack with shock, others curved in hungry little smirks.
The steam carried more than heat now; it carried sound. Faint, wet, rhythmic noises filtering in from every direction—slick shlks, hushed gasps, the barely-there whimper of someone biting back a moan. It was a chorus of guilty pleasure, low and desperate, the kind of sounds people made when they thought they were hidden but couldn't help themselves.
I let out a shaky, breathless laugh, the kind you give when you're in way too deep but somehow don't regret it, then grabbed Felix's hand and bolted out of the shower, leaving the echoes—and the stares—behind us.