Nobody Stopped Us in the Sauna Showers
We stumbled out of the dark room, not quite knowing where one of us ended and the other began. We had spent almost an hour in there, in that lightless room in the Adriano club where skin is recognized by touch and nobody asks names. When the corridor met us with its red bulbs, we both shut our eyes against the glare and burst out laughing like two kids who’d just pulled off an enormous prank.
—You’re shaking —Dorian told me, running a finger over my chest.
—So are you —I said.
Nothing more needed to be said. We looked at each other, sticky and exhausted, and the two of us knew at once where we were headed. We walked down the corridor leaving a wet trail on the floor, straight to the showers.
The Adriano showers are a huge space, with a black floor and a high ceiling, and a dozen large showerheads hanging down like lamps. One of the walls is smoked glass and looks out onto the corridor, so anyone passing by can stop and watch without even coming in. At that hour, past four in the morning, there were only three guys left soaping themselves unhurriedly, speaking in low voices. As soon as they saw us appear like that —naked, exhausted, bodies shining— they edged away to either side without a word. They left the center clear for us, as if they knew what we were about to do there deserved room.
Dorian turned on the biggest showerhead, the one in the middle. Hot water fell over us like thick rain, and for a moment that was all that existed: the sound of water and the steam rising between our two bodies.
He put me with my back to him. I felt his hands, slick with gel, sliding over my chest, down my abdomen, pausing a second too long in every place he knew made me tremble. My body is tattooed and my hair is tied up in long braids that by then had become a soaked mess, and he played with all of it as if it were the first time he’d touched me.
—Stay still —he whispered against my ear, and bit it slowly—. Now I’m washing you.
His fingers slid down to take hold of me. I had already come several times that night, but it was enough for him to close his hand around me for me to harden again against his palm. I laughed, half incredulous at my own body, and he laughed too, still biting my neck.
He turned me to face him. Beneath the spray we looked at each other up close: him with those green eyes that gleamed even through the steam, me with water running down my face. We didn’t say anything. There was no need. Something in his look said it all very clearly: it wasn’t over, we were only taking a breather before the next assault.
He knelt slowly, letting the water pour straight over his head, and took my cock into his mouth. He did it without haste, with a calm that contrasted with everything before: tongue circling, lips tightening, throat opening little by little until he swallowed me whole. He kept looking up at me the entire time, hair plastered down by the water. I put a hand on the back of his neck, not to force him, but to feel the rhythm, and I moved slowly inside his mouth, enjoying every centimeter.
***
The three guys off to the sides had already stopped pretending to wash. They began edging closer, silently, forming a semicircle a few steps away from us. None of them dared to touch us; they stroked themselves, slowly, watching. The smoked glass in the corridor now held two more silhouettes, people passing by who stopped dead on the other side of the pane.
Dorian stood up. He turned me around again, placed my palms against the wall, and knelt behind me. I felt his tongue parting my ass cheeks while the hot water kept hammering down on us like a waterfall. I pushed back, seeking him out, and he answered by sucking harder, slipping in a finger, then two, opening me with a patience that drove me crazy. I moaned against the wet wall, forehead pressed to the cold glass, feeling pleasure surge through me in waves.
—Turn around —he said suddenly, voice rough.
I barely had time to obey. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing and set my back against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt him sink into me in one stroke, slow at first and then sure. The water made everything slippery, made every movement easy and deep. He fucked me standing up, lifting and lowering me with his arms, and I clung to his shoulders while water sprayed both our faces.
One of the voyeurs came right then, in silence, just from watching us. I heard him more than I saw him, a held-back gasp over the noise of the water, and that only lit me up even more.
***
Dorian lowered me carefully to the floor. He led me over to the marble bench in the middle of the showers, a long slab slick with steam. He laid me face down across it, climbed on top of me with all his weight, and went in again. His chest was pressed to my back, his mouth against my nape, and he slammed into me without stopping while the spray from the showerhead above lashed us like a storm. I clung to the edges of the bench, slipping, letting the rhythm take me.
Then he changed things. He sat on the bench and pulled me onto him. This time I was the one who took him, slowly, watching him throw his head back when I was all the way in. He started moving on top of me, riding me with his hands braced on my shoulders, water running down his chest and abdomen. I grabbed his ass with both hands, spreading him open, feeling how he tightened every time he came down. We kept looking into each other’s eyes the whole time, no longer smiling, too deep in what we were doing.
The semicircle of men had closed in around us. They were closer now, and one of them ended up on the wet floor, a few centimeters from our feet, without either of us caring. On the contrary: knowing they were watching, that they couldn’t look away, made every movement count double.
***
Dorian got up in one sudden motion. The water was still falling like a hot curtain. He grabbed one of my soaked braids and pulled upward to get me onto my feet, slowly but firmly, making it clear who was in charge at that moment. He turned me to face the black wall, lifted one leg with one hand and, with the other, guided himself back inside me.
The water and everything we’d already done made him slide in with one thrust, without resistance, all the way to the hilt. I let out a long moan that blended with the sound of the shower. He started moving with a force I hadn’t expected from a body as compact as his: fast, deep thrusts, his hips slamming into me with a wet sound that bounced off the glass walls. Every time he pushed in he hit exactly the spot that made my back arch and my teeth clench.
My cheek was pressed to the glass, one leg held high, completely open and exposed. My own cock bounced against the cold wall untouched by anyone, dripping, ready to burst on its own. Dorian gripped both my braids with one hand, as if they were reins, and yanked them to arch me more while with the other he pinched my nipple. He brought his mouth to my ear and, in that voice broken by desire, said:
—I want you to keep it inside you all the way to the hotel, Nico.
He sped up even more. I felt his ragged breathing at my nape, the impact of his body against mine, water splashing in every direction. And then I noticed him tense, felt him swelling inside me a second before he came. He emptied himself in waves, deep, holding me with both hands so I wouldn’t move a centimeter. The pleasure was so brutal that I came without touching myself: long jets that slammed against the wall and slid down to the floor, mixing with the water and with what he was already beginning to leave running down my thighs.
He kept moving for a few seconds longer, slower now, squeezing everything out to the last drop. Then he came out carefully and turned me to kiss me under the water, tongue to tongue, unhurried, as if we wanted to share the taste of everything we had done that night.
We stayed there a while, under the spray, holding each other and shaking, laughing again like at the start. Hot semen ran down my legs, my own was spread over my abdomen, and even so we were both still half hard, unable to let go of each other. Around us, the last men still left were finishing in silence, watching us, and nobody made the slightest move to leave.
—Let’s go to the hotel —I whispered in his ear.
Dorian nodded, still smiling, and finally turned the water off. Steam hung over the black floor as we stepped out, still soaked, with the feeling that in those showers we had sought each other out to the very bottom and, for once, nobody had had the courage to stop us.
