Shower - Z/C, NC-17
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Shower
by Serai
“You’re certifiable, you know that?” Zeke’s leaning against the tiled wall, arms crossed. He wishes for the hundredth time that he could see the way Casey does, because he has no idea what the guy’s going for here.
“Shut up,” Casey answers, smiling down from his perch on the ladder. He slides the clamp-on lamp along the top of the frosted glass wall and stops. “There. I think that’s it.” He turns the lamp on and twists the gooseneck until the light hits the tiled wall adjacent to the showerhead. “Turn off the overhead and come stand over here,” he says.
Zeke does what he’s told. As soon as the room’s dark, he sees the effect. The lamp creates an ellipse of light against the darkened white tiles. He steps into it and looks up at Casey smiling down on him. “Put your hands against the wall behind you and lean back.” Then, “Look up toward me. Look away, tilt your head down.” And then, “Stay there.” He climbs down off the ladder and steps into the tub, crouching down at Zeke’s feet. Looking up at him. His voice is softer now. “Bend your knees, slump a bit. Now straighten up.” He sighs. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Casey gets up onto his knees and takes the narrow hips into his hands. He nuzzles Zeke’s groin, opens his mouth and nips gently through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, smiles at the resulting groan. He gets up, presses against the long body, and reaches up to kiss him. “Stay right here,” he whispers into his mouth. Then, with a little grin and lick at his lips, “Try not to get hard.”
It’s their customary slow, circling dance. Casey slides the shower door fully open, and tells Zeke to strip. “Take your time. Get me hot.” Zeke’s mouth twists with amusement, and he leans back, puts a hand on his chest, licks his lips. Casey lifts the camera and snatches that lascivious movement, light lining the soft tongue as it flicks out. Zeke takes hold of the hem of his sweatshirt and pulls. He thinks he knows what Casey wants, so he arches, flexing his arms and shoulders as the shirt slides up over his head. Eyes closed, he tilts his head toward the light, and Casey follows him. Zeke drops the shirt to the floor of the tub, and lowers his hands to the drawstring at his waist. Casey falls back on his knees, watching through the viewfinder as Zeke unties and then pulls. Casey angles around and captures Zeke’s hands in profile as they slide the thick material down his hips past his nestled dick, starting to strain upwards, and down over his thighs. He has beautiful hands, strong capable fingers; Casey’s mouth waters as he racks focus back and forth to find different details.
Once the sweats are down around Zeke’s ankles, Casey pulls them off and away from his feet, then takes the clothes and tosses them onto the bathroom floor, setting the camera down on top of them. Zeke looks down at him, a grin tugging the side of his face. “What now, maestro?” he asks, then gasps as Casey kneels up and takes him in his mouth. ”Fuck,” he whispers, “I thought you didn’t want me to get hard.” His fingers grip Casey’s hair as he arches his back.
Casey lets go of him with a laugh. “I didn’t want you getting hard without me,” he replies, licking his lips when Zeke looks at him again. “Now the fun starts.” He stands up and kisses his lover, then turns the water on.
It changes everything. Casey positions the showerhead so it hits Zeke just at the collarbone, the drops arcing and catching the light. He takes shots from above on the ladder, looking down at Zeke’s neck as his face turns away, the water turning everything into a glittering, shining sculpture. Skin as marble, luscious living marble. He looks deeply at the shadows and highlights, judging and weighing how to balance it all to get what he has in his head. He moves down to the shower door, crouching to capture that angled, hipshot beauty, the water coursing in a glittering stream before it, framing the heaving skin.
“Turn your head toward me just a bit. Now down a little,” Casey directs. “Open your mouth. Wait.” He sees something unexpected: a few drops of water arcing up and falling into Zeke’s mouth. He sets his camera down outside the tub, then gets up. His t-shirt is getting soaked but he doesn’t care. Oh, this is it, he thinks. He moves the showerhead up just a bit, so the spray hits higher, along Zeke’s neck, some of it into his mouth. Waiting a moment, he sees what he was hoping for, and a rush of heat flows over him as he moves back down for his camera. Oh, you’re going to come so hard when we’re done, he thinks, as he raises it to his eye.
Jesus, Zeke thinks as he looks at the finished photos. He never gets used to this, to how Casey can transform things so radically. What he remembers as playing around under a clip-on lamp has become a dark, dramatic seduction. He looks at himself and can’t recognize what he sees - the face is hard-angled and brooding, not acknowledging anything outside its own pleasure. Skin like marble, and the light treats it that way, shining bright against the deep black shadows. The shots of his hands untying the drawstring of his pants are composed completely of thin lines of light delineating the contours of his fingers, the outline of the cloth, an image nearly invisible in the darkness. And the water, bright flashes of white and silver running over his skin, dancing off his chest and neck. A shot of his hand on his dick through the spray and the gently curling steam. The dreamy feel of his face, eyes closed, lips parted.
At the last, Casey shows him the master shot and Zeke stares, uncomprehending. Again, he doesn’t know who he’s looking at, because it can’t be him. The shot looks up at the long, tight torso arched under the spray. The face is angled half-down toward the camera and partially away from the light, creating hard edges between light and dark, the eyes shut, submissive or dreaming. A light stream of drops falls into the open mouth, and the water pours out again as if from the mouth of a sculpture. The shimmer and glitter of the water, the curve of his jaw, the lines of his neck and shoulders and chest, taut muscles against the shadowy tiles, even the soft trail of hair under his navel dotted with tiny beads of light - it’s complex and mysterious and otherworldly. It’s fucking art.
“Casey,” he murmurs, “Man, how did you do this?” He looks up at the soft smile, and the glistening eyes that can find a Greek god in a lazy, dead-end loser. Casey shrugs gently and kisses him, and Zeke has all the answer he needs.
Chapter 29 of High Contrast
Chapter 30
.
Shower
by Serai
“You’re certifiable, you know that?” Zeke’s leaning against the tiled wall, arms crossed. He wishes for the hundredth time that he could see the way Casey does, because he has no idea what the guy’s going for here.
“Shut up,” Casey answers, smiling down from his perch on the ladder. He slides the clamp-on lamp along the top of the frosted glass wall and stops. “There. I think that’s it.” He turns the lamp on and twists the gooseneck until the light hits the tiled wall adjacent to the showerhead. “Turn off the overhead and come stand over here,” he says.
Zeke does what he’s told. As soon as the room’s dark, he sees the effect. The lamp creates an ellipse of light against the darkened white tiles. He steps into it and looks up at Casey smiling down on him. “Put your hands against the wall behind you and lean back.” Then, “Look up toward me. Look away, tilt your head down.” And then, “Stay there.” He climbs down off the ladder and steps into the tub, crouching down at Zeke’s feet. Looking up at him. His voice is softer now. “Bend your knees, slump a bit. Now straighten up.” He sighs. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Casey gets up onto his knees and takes the narrow hips into his hands. He nuzzles Zeke’s groin, opens his mouth and nips gently through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, smiles at the resulting groan. He gets up, presses against the long body, and reaches up to kiss him. “Stay right here,” he whispers into his mouth. Then, with a little grin and lick at his lips, “Try not to get hard.”
It’s their customary slow, circling dance. Casey slides the shower door fully open, and tells Zeke to strip. “Take your time. Get me hot.” Zeke’s mouth twists with amusement, and he leans back, puts a hand on his chest, licks his lips. Casey lifts the camera and snatches that lascivious movement, light lining the soft tongue as it flicks out. Zeke takes hold of the hem of his sweatshirt and pulls. He thinks he knows what Casey wants, so he arches, flexing his arms and shoulders as the shirt slides up over his head. Eyes closed, he tilts his head toward the light, and Casey follows him. Zeke drops the shirt to the floor of the tub, and lowers his hands to the drawstring at his waist. Casey falls back on his knees, watching through the viewfinder as Zeke unties and then pulls. Casey angles around and captures Zeke’s hands in profile as they slide the thick material down his hips past his nestled dick, starting to strain upwards, and down over his thighs. He has beautiful hands, strong capable fingers; Casey’s mouth waters as he racks focus back and forth to find different details.
Once the sweats are down around Zeke’s ankles, Casey pulls them off and away from his feet, then takes the clothes and tosses them onto the bathroom floor, setting the camera down on top of them. Zeke looks down at him, a grin tugging the side of his face. “What now, maestro?” he asks, then gasps as Casey kneels up and takes him in his mouth. ”Fuck,” he whispers, “I thought you didn’t want me to get hard.” His fingers grip Casey’s hair as he arches his back.
Casey lets go of him with a laugh. “I didn’t want you getting hard without me,” he replies, licking his lips when Zeke looks at him again. “Now the fun starts.” He stands up and kisses his lover, then turns the water on.
It changes everything. Casey positions the showerhead so it hits Zeke just at the collarbone, the drops arcing and catching the light. He takes shots from above on the ladder, looking down at Zeke’s neck as his face turns away, the water turning everything into a glittering, shining sculpture. Skin as marble, luscious living marble. He looks deeply at the shadows and highlights, judging and weighing how to balance it all to get what he has in his head. He moves down to the shower door, crouching to capture that angled, hipshot beauty, the water coursing in a glittering stream before it, framing the heaving skin.
“Turn your head toward me just a bit. Now down a little,” Casey directs. “Open your mouth. Wait.” He sees something unexpected: a few drops of water arcing up and falling into Zeke’s mouth. He sets his camera down outside the tub, then gets up. His t-shirt is getting soaked but he doesn’t care. Oh, this is it, he thinks. He moves the showerhead up just a bit, so the spray hits higher, along Zeke’s neck, some of it into his mouth. Waiting a moment, he sees what he was hoping for, and a rush of heat flows over him as he moves back down for his camera. Oh, you’re going to come so hard when we’re done, he thinks, as he raises it to his eye.
Jesus, Zeke thinks as he looks at the finished photos. He never gets used to this, to how Casey can transform things so radically. What he remembers as playing around under a clip-on lamp has become a dark, dramatic seduction. He looks at himself and can’t recognize what he sees - the face is hard-angled and brooding, not acknowledging anything outside its own pleasure. Skin like marble, and the light treats it that way, shining bright against the deep black shadows. The shots of his hands untying the drawstring of his pants are composed completely of thin lines of light delineating the contours of his fingers, the outline of the cloth, an image nearly invisible in the darkness. And the water, bright flashes of white and silver running over his skin, dancing off his chest and neck. A shot of his hand on his dick through the spray and the gently curling steam. The dreamy feel of his face, eyes closed, lips parted.
At the last, Casey shows him the master shot and Zeke stares, uncomprehending. Again, he doesn’t know who he’s looking at, because it can’t be him. The shot looks up at the long, tight torso arched under the spray. The face is angled half-down toward the camera and partially away from the light, creating hard edges between light and dark, the eyes shut, submissive or dreaming. A light stream of drops falls into the open mouth, and the water pours out again as if from the mouth of a sculpture. The shimmer and glitter of the water, the curve of his jaw, the lines of his neck and shoulders and chest, taut muscles against the shadowy tiles, even the soft trail of hair under his navel dotted with tiny beads of light - it’s complex and mysterious and otherworldly. It’s fucking art.
“Casey,” he murmurs, “Man, how did you do this?” He looks up at the soft smile, and the glistening eyes that can find a Greek god in a lazy, dead-end loser. Casey shrugs gently and kisses him, and Zeke has all the answer he needs.
Chapter 29 of High Contrast
Chapter 30
.