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“It’s gorgeous, like the rest of you,” Jack assured him, and relief flitted across Harry's face. “My turn.” He eased his own plain black boxers down over the erection that had decided to show up around the time Harry’s dick had come into view.
Harry’s eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, and he stared for a second before saying, “I thought you’d be blonder.” Jack sputtered out a laugh and Harry added, “It’s nice, though. Blurry, but nice.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Jack grabbed Harry around the waist, stealing a quick kiss before steering him into the shower cubicle. He turned them so Harry was catching most of the water and grabbed Tristan’s fancy shampoo that they absolutely weren’t supposed to use on pain of death, squirting some into his palm. He figured Tris wouldn’t mind, just this once. Not when it was a special occasion. Once Harry’s hair was wet enough, Jack worked the shampoo into a lather and ran his fingers through Harry’s dark locks, chasing away the cream and kiwifruit and passionfruit seeds. While Harry tilted his head back and rinsed the suds out, Jack soaped up the sponge and ran it down Harry’s body in long, gentle strokes. First his front, then his back, greedy for the feel of hard muscle under his palms.
Harry blinked at him, the glistening wetness of his skin and the way the water droplets sparkled on his eyelashes making him look like some sort of angel or fae prince. He reached out and took the sponge off Jack. “My turn to touch,” he said with quiet intensity, dragging the soapy sponge down Jack’s chest, fingertips trailing through the suds. From the way his dick hardened further as he traced the pattern of Jack’s tattoo, he was as hungry for this as Jack was. The idea that Jack was the only person Harry had ever wanted like this was a heady thought, intoxicating, and it sent a thrill right to Jack’s core.
The shower stall was small enough that there was barely an inch between them, their erections grazing gently against each other in an intimate tease. It wasn’t enough, and Jack found himself sliding to his knees and gazing up at Harry, wrapping one hand around his erection and licking his lips. “Can I?”
Harry’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut again, and he gave a tiny nod, eyes wide. Jack leaned in and licked delicately at the head, then ran his tongue down the shaft. Harry made a strangled noise and his fingers clutched tight in Jack’s hair, whether to keep him still or pull him closer, Jack wasn’t sure. He took the head in his mouth and sucked at it gently and was rewarded with, “Holymotherofchristshitballs.”
Jack pulled off long enough to say, “Don’t let them hear you say that at Saint Robert’s,” then he put his mouth back on Harry’s cock, earning a sharp gasp. Jack closed his eyes against the shower spray and set up a steady rhythm, in-out-in-out, losing himself to the feel of Harry’s dick in his mouth and the weight of him against his tongue, savouring the noises Harry was making—little half-sounds like he was trying to form words but couldn’t quite manage it—and the way Harry’s thighs trembled.
His own erection slapped against his belly, achingly hard and throbbing in time with the filthy noises Harry was making, but he ignored it. He could deal with it later. Right now, his main focus was blowing Harry’s mind.
It wasn’t long before there was a bitter burst of salt across his tongue. He took it as encouragement and kept going, his throat working as he swallowed and sucked, his hands planted against Harry’s thighs. Jack was good at this, and he wanted Harry’s first blowjob to be unforgettable, so he gave it his all, running his tongue down the shaft and flicking it over the head. Harry’s dick throbbed and pulsed against his tongue and the hand in his hair pulled urgently, giving him enough warning to pull off just as Harry’s hips snapped forward and he came with a grunt, spattering Jack’s face and neck.
“Holy shit,” Harry panted out, before sliding down the wall of the shower, landing in a boneless sprawl in front of Jack. He looked utterly fucked-out—if he’d been wearing his glasses, they would have been askew. He flapped a hand at Jack and gave him a wide, stunned smile. “I mean, holy shit.”
Jack grinned, leaning his head back to capture the spray and rinse the mess away. Harry draped his arms around his neck and rested some of his weight on him. His gaze dropped to Jack’s hard on. “Did you want a hand with that?” he asked, and there was none of the reluctance there had been the first time he’d asked. This time, Harry sounded like he meant it.
“Yeah.” Jack grinned, sliding against the wall next to Harry because shower sex sounded great in theory, but now that he wasn’t focussed on Harry’s cock, he was aware of the ache in his knees from the unforgiving tile surface. Harry reached over and wrapped a hand around his dick, squeezing lightly before moving his hand up and down, hesitant at first but quickly working up to a hard and fast rhythm, just the way Jack liked. His balls throbbed, his nerve endings crackled and his blood fizzed. Jack arched up into Harry’s touch, knowing he was going to blow his load in about ten seconds and not caring, because they were both naked and wet and Harry was touching him, and if this wasn’t the hottest thing ever, Jack didn’t know what was.
Except it wasn’t, it turned out.
The hottest thing ever was Harry leaning over and playfully whispering in his ear, “You missed a spot,” then darting forward and licking at the corner of Jack’s mouth, before kissing him with the taste of cum fresh on his tongue. Jack’s entire body seized, and he suspected Harry was laughing at him as he twitched and gasped his way through his orgasm like someone had touched a live wire to his balls. But right now? He had absolutely zero fucks to give.
He was pretty sure he’d just given them all to Harry.
“How come they never have this problem in the movies?” Harry grumbled against Jack’s shoulder a few minutes or hours or millennia later, shivering under the lukewarm spray that was still falling. Their afterglow was still going strong, but the hot water system wasn’t. “I’ve never yet seen a romcom where they run out of hot water.”
“That’s because people in romcoms don’t live in a hundred-year-old house that’s only standing through the strength of the sheer spite of its owner,” Jack said with a lazy smile. He hauled himself to his feet and turned the taps off before the water turned from tepid to freezing without warning. His legs were still partly jelly, but he had enough strength to pull Harry to his feet. “People in romcoms are beautiful people living with other beautiful people in beautiful houses, and blackouts only happen to advance the plot, and are never because they’re broke students who forgot to pay the power bill.”
Harry smiled at him, pink cheeked. “I do live with a beautiful people. It’s just the house that’s shit.”
Warmth spread through Jack at that, almost making up for the chill coming from his wet skin. “You’re such a sap,” he said, handing Harry a towel.
Harry grinned and didn’t try to deny it as he tucked the towel around his waist. Jack settled his palms over the warm skin of Harry’s hips and leaned in for a kiss, but they were interrupted by a pounding on the door.
“Hey, you two!” Tristan shouted. “Stop fucking around in there! I need to take a piss, and if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to have to do it in the sink again!”
“Again?” Jack asked in a whisper. “Ew.”
Harry’s jaw dropped open, then he was scrambling for the door, flinging it open. “You swore! You said you’d never do it again, that it was one time!”
Tristan was standing there draped in some sort of kimono that barely covered his arse, fist raised to knock again. He pushed past Harry, making a beeline for the toilet. It was only when he cast a glance over his shoulder and said, “Damn, Harry, I’d tap that,” that Jack realised he was still completely naked.
“You can’t,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m super exclusive, and that one’s all mine.”
Jack smiled at him, warmth pooling in his chest, and Harry beamed back.
“Okay, Jesus,” Tristan said. “A bit of fucking privacy, please?”
Jack grabbed his towel and Harry’s hand, and led him out of the bathroom.
“Thank you!” Tristan called after them and, a moment later, began to piss.
If Jack was honest with himself, he’d heard much, much worse when it came to Tris and the things he did with his dick. He shook his head and drew Harry down the hallway to his bedroom—although really, at this stage the bedroom was more theirs than his.
