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Oliver went quickly and tilted his face up into the spray, then he looked back over his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was serious rather than sultry. “Thank you, Mal’ik.”
Mal’ik smiled, his heart clenching almost painfully in his chest. “Of course.”
He turned to leave Oliver to whatever he needed to do to come down—it clearly hadn’t involved Mal’ik last time—but then Oliver’s wet hand caught his wrist. Mal’ik looked back to see Oliver with a mischievous smile.
“Join me?”
Mal’ik barked out a laugh. “Alright, but don’t expect me to be able to do much. I’m not as young as you.”
“Standing here naked in the shower with me and looking like a statue of masculinity incarnate is all I ask.” Oliver’s smirk grew, and Mal’ik flushed hot enough that he knew it was showing even on his dusky skin.
He could smell Oliver’s attraction to him—and Oliver had definitely demonstrated an interest in a carnal relationship—but it was different to hear him voice it when neither of them was hard.
He took a step forward, but Oliver stopped him with a hand on his chest before he could get under the water.
“Your arm.” He frowned. “Should it get wet?”
Mal’ik glanced at his prosthetic and drummed his metal fingers against his metal thumb. It was the arm of a soldier, made of sturdy stuff and capable of dealing with a little water. But no, it shouldn’t really be exposed to a shower if it could help it.
“Not really,” Mal’ik admitted. He thought of taking his whole arm off in front of Oliver, breaking the illusion that he was still whole, and he grimaced and shook his head. “But it’s fine.”
Oliver didn’t drop his hand from Mal’ik’s chest, even when Mal’ik tried to push past it. “Mal’ik. You’ve seen my scars. You can show me yours.”
Mal’ik looked into Oliver’s hazel eyes. He had seen Oliver’s scars. Nothing was marring his creamy skin, and Oliver hid them well, but he’d let Mal’ik see them.
Mal’ik’s lips twitched in a humorless smile, and he felt the thick line of his own scar tissue pull across his face. “I’ve never been able to hide them.”
“So why are you trying to now?”
It was a fair question. Maybe because when Oliver looked at him the way he did, Mal’ik forgot what he looked like and what he was. And because Oliver made him forget, he had fooled himself into thinking that Oliver didn’t notice either. But he did. Oliver saw everything about him, and for now, at least, he was still standing there smiling softly at him.
So Mal’ik inhaled deeply and undid the straps of his harness. Then he grabbed his arm with his soft hand, found the buttons and the latches where it unlocked, and pulled it off. He winced as the nerve endings disengaged with a sharp pain but stifled the grunt.
The arm went limp and dead in his hand, leaving him just a touch off-balance, and he set it on the counter.
He looked back at Oliver to see Oliver staring at his stump, gnarled and studded with ports. But he didn’t look disgusted, his head cocked with curiosity. Mal’ik didn’t try to step against the hand on his chest this time. Maybe now Oliver had seen it, he wouldn’t think Mal’ik could still be his “statue of masculinity incarnate.”
But then Oliver’s eyes slid up to Mal’ik’s, he smiled, and the hand that had been on his chest slid up to the back of Mal’ik’s neck. Oliver pulled him forward, under the spray of the water, and then pushed him back against the tile wall.
He slid his wet body up against Mal’ik’s and kissed him as insistently as he did everything. Mal’ik moaned, and the fear and stress collapsed out of him. He wrapped his one arm around Oliver’s lower back to hold him close as Oliver kissed him eagerly.
Oliver broke the kiss but stayed close. “This is definitely the best way to end sex,” he murmured breathlessly against his lips.
Mal’ik chuckled and tightened his hold to press Oliver meaningfully against him, trapping the young human’s hardening length between their hips. “You don’t seem like you’re ending anything.”
Oliver smiled sheepishly, and then his brows pinched with pleasure as he rocked his hips against him. “I—I can be quick.”
“Can you get yourself off against me, Oliver?” Mal’ik whispered in his ear.
Oliver gave a jerky nod. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
“Do it.”
Oliver whined and then caught his lips. He started moving his hips against him in earnest, sliding his wet cock over Mal’ik’s skin and muscles as he kissed him. Mal’ik could feel the pleasure of the rhythmic motion and friction, but he’d meant what he’d said before—he wasn’t young enough to be able to do much.
But he could enjoy the feel of Oliver in his arm, tight against him and straining after his own orgasm.
And he could move that arm down to cup Oliver’s ass and slide a long finger between his crack and press the pad of his finger against Oliver’s entrance to help him along.
