The Silence and the Steam.

I sit on my stool, steaming hot water sluicing down my naked form in cascades, like so many hot mountain springs. I am tired, almost beyond caring, loosely holding a still cold bottle of cider just out of the water, the condensation forming beads of sweat across the surface of the glass.

The bathroom is in shadow, the sun just recently set, and the only light stealing in under the door from an old lamp by my bed in the next room. The steam plays in the few patches of light afforded by the gap under the door, lending a darkly fantastic air to the scene. A refuge from the pains and stresses of the world, a sanctum in the silence and the steam.

I stare down at my body, pink from the waters heat, legs loosely splayed out before me, the shape of a recently proud and throbbing penis now laid out halfheartedly on the surface of the stool between my thighs.

It is a twitch down here that first alerts me to your presence. Some soft sound or change in the air perhaps. Too imperceptible for my conscious mind to register, but a message delivered firmly and efficiently to the relevant systems in my body.

I close my eyes, take a long pull from the bottle as a shifting of the floorboards registers finally in my ears, and the light patterns shift in response to the slow and careful movement of the door. I do not hear your footsteps, but the low and whispering sound of your breath reaches my ears, followed by the steady thrum of your heart beating fit to burst in anticipation. Yours? No... I believe that is my heart beating. Like I'd forgotten it could. Beating of the promise of more, more than simply refuge, in the silence and the steam.

I can feel your presence in the room now, sidling slowly around the wall of the shower. The shift in the sound of the falling water tells me that you are reaching out towards my face. Tentatively, uncertainly. You withdraw it for half a heartbeat and then, contact! My body surges with a new sensation of interest, hope, and vigour, as your hand caresses my cheek, and the shifting light on my eyelids tells me that you have drawn ever closer, a deduction confirmed by the softness of your thighs against my own, and the softest kiss of flesh against my forehead, my mind finding solace in the warmth of your breasts.

You speak no words. There is no spoken language for where we are, and what we need. But, as i feel the fingertips of your hand trace tantalising lines down the length of my neck, soft circles around the muscles on my chest, exploring the expanse of my belly, and caressing the tops of my thighs, no words are needed. I am all but screaming for you in the silence and the steam.

The bottle finds its way to the floor, and my hands find the backs of your thighs, wending their way upwards to the curve of your buttocks, sinking fingers gently but firmly into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading as what once slept between my thighs finds itself awake, and roaring for your attention. Leaving a hand firmly grasping your arse, the fingers of my other drop ever so slowly, reaching around for the folds of your most secret place. I hear the softest gasp over the falling water as my fingers make contact with that most sensitive of places, and your hand, once gently teasing and exploring, now firmly grasps the firmness of my erection and, with soft gentle moans, you begin to stroke me.

Such escalation cannot go unanswered on my part and, removing my hand from behind your thighs, I reach in between our aching bodies to properly place my fingers over the soft mound before me. There is a wetness that coats my fingers that has nothing to do with the water now covering both our bodies.

Your legs shift, almost unconsciously, widening the gap, inviting me deeper into your body, and my fingertips draw circles on the walls of your passage, exploring and teasing all the folds and tissue, and your hand falters for just a moment, before the upward and downwards motion recommences. Our hands and bodies move in sync with one another now, our dance a primal and inexorable one, the world outside the falling water gone from all conscious thought.

Our lips meet hungrily, and I can feel more than hear the rising of your pitch, your deep moans and mewling whimpers becoming higher and needier. The sensation drives me wild, a fire in my belly roaring my fingers into even more urgent and frenzied action. One hand gripping the cheek of your ass as though my life were depending on it, the other moving around your secret spot as though your life depended on it.

Your stroking increases in urgency, an unconscious action as the fire in your belly rises to match my own, a slight quiver in your knees betraying you, your lips slipping from my own for the briefest moment, and a sound of pure need escaping your lips. Such an action spurs me to even greater efforts and, as I slide my fingers home deeper and deeper into your tunnel, my thumb sliding across your button with almost manic intensity, your knees will support you no longer, and it is all I can do to withdraw my fingers, and keep contact on your clitoris as you sink to the floor, all coherent thought forgotten in your moment of passion. Your hand slides from my cock to the wall of the shower, taking what support you can find as you gasp for breath, and the light of reason slowly returns to your eyes in the minutes that follow.

I, for one, do not move. Simply offering you my knees to lean against, smiling softly at the pleasure I was able to bring to one so wonderful and special to me. Your chest heaves still, but less so with each passing moment. Still no words pass between us, only a lingering stare, full of life, full of passion. Your eyes drop from mine, to my cock, still standing proud and erect, the product of your passionate administrations.

A wolfish smile crosses your lips, and a spark enters your eyes. I lean forwards to help you back to your feet, but feel a hand on my chest, pushing me back against the wall, to the position you found me in when you first entered the room.

My eyes close a moment, and I feel your soft lips parting on the inside of my thigh. A warm moisture again independent of the heat and the steam, traces a lazy and sensuous series of circles up the inside of my thigh.

A soft moan escapes me as I feel a warm wetness engulf the head of my tower, vibrating slightly but deliciously as you make a deep moan.

And then, nothing.

Nothing but the pleasure, in the silence and the steam.