The billowing clouds of steam that surround Justin as he joins me in the shower remind me that the water is probably too hot for him; I automatically set it to my preference, which is far warmer than he likes. I love the way hot water sears my skin, telling me I'm alive with every stinging drop. Breathing in all that moisture makes my lungs feel thick and full. The air feels slow and heavy like syrup, each movement muddled and deliberate.

Standing on a cloud, watching the universe fly by my soul

When I reach for the water taps, however, he stops me. Already I can see his skin blushing from the heat, its ivory surface flush with blood and a swirling mixture of once-and-future desire. It's a good look for him--in my opinion, the one he was born to wear. He looks so fucking alive like that, body vibrating in place, lips parted, eyes liquid. Like this, he is seduction incarnate--a naked and sexualized angel, mislaid by God. In his innocence he has wandered into my lair and now that I have him here, I'll never let him go.

Halo askew, caught on a horn; feathers leaden from steam, damp and warm

Since he doesn't seem to be minding the heat, I waste no more time in getting him under the spray. We slide together, slick limbs twining and locking-unlocking-locking. Water tastes better after it's been blessed by touching him, so I drink of it, following rivulets down his neck to his belly. His hands are in my hair, tugging and petting, slowing my descent so that when my knees hit the tile, it's a gentle landing. Looking upwards, I'm caught by the sight of him, hair darkened by water, eyelashes glistening with dew. His mouth is open, lips curved into a lusty smirk--he knows what's coming, knows I can't resist, knows I never could.

I give you this offering, cut from the cloth that is my blood

Water pours over us, sliding down him and onto me, washing me clean. It scours us both, boiling us with its heat, carrying his scent onto my skin. I'm being infused with him, his being eradicating whatever might have existed before him.

Washed clean

His cock is hard, jutting out at me. An offering, from this heavenly creature led most assuredly astray by me, and one I won't bother to turn down. I need this, need to take him in and let him wash away my sins. Let him wash away the gaze of our pathetic following; cleanse me of their lust and wanting.

Lay me bare, strip everything away until all that's left is you and me.

He slides in effortlessly, hips jutting forward as I wrap my fingers around them. I'm overwhelmed by the taste of him, sharp and perfect. Having him in my mouth makes my cock jump and my skin laugh; we're where we want to be.

Dancing in place; arch into me now, seat yourself on my heart

It only takes the slightest of suggestions to have his hands back in my hair, his hips gliding forward to meet my mouth. He fucks my face with fluid grace, each snap of his hips echoing the cries I can't contain. My own hips twitch in sympathy, fucking steamy air and searing water. Lips, tight but soft, dragging up and down the length of him. They catch on every ridge, bend and mold around the veins. My tongue can't help but delve into his slit, wanting what he has yet to give to me. I want that, want it more with every scrape against the roof of my mouth and nudge at the back of my throat.

Fill me with yourself, fuck yourself with me, find again what you left behind this morning

I want more--more of him, more of myself-inside-him, so while he's busy shoving himself inside me, I return the favor. His ass is tight, only slightly relaxed from heat and sex, still swollen and soft from the backroom. I forgo sliding in favor of shoving, meeting him on a backstroke so I can revel in the groan the move draws forth. He's thrusting harder now, trying to find my own ass by way of my tongue. Harder, thicker, blood throbbing against my lips and this is washing away everything but the immortal instant of right now.

Eyes pinning, cock impaling, heart binding

I push fingers from my free hand inside him, spreading his ass open. Water flows between my fingers, drizzling sensation across the nerve endings there. He gasps and groans, his rhythm unsteady. I hold him open, crooking my fingers. I can almost feel them in my mouth, holding me open wider for his cock. I can't stand it when he withdraws, so I suck harder, keeping him inside. I want him inside me, want to be inside him, and mostly want to never exist outside of this being-with-him. How can I, when only this makes me pure?

Water we were borne of, and to water we shall return. What goes on in between flows forth from the beginning and its conclusion

The taste on my tongue says he's getting closer--a fact made more clear by the way he's pulling at my hair. He's riding my fingers and my tongue, cock and ass given over to me for his own pleasure. His cries are even more beautiful than usual as they echo off the stall, letting my ears enjoy over and over again what other parts of me have long reveled in experiencing.

His pleasure

I'm almost begging him to come, to finish what he started when he was born. Wipe the slate clean, empty yourself and fill me up, make me whole and beautiful inside, let me be all the time what is only seen when your eyes look upon me. I need to hear him fall silent and then pitch forward into screaming, need to feel his cock swell and stretch my jaw, need to have my fingers clenched in his hole as he pours forth.

Give me an offering I can return to you tenfold, let me be the supplicant at your altar, I am here only for what you wish to give unto me

And then it's there, in a flash of sudden stillness. He freezes deep in my throat, ass grinding my fingers to meal. A moment, then another, and I am filled, balm taking the place of vitriol, spice overpowering bitterness. I hear my name, drawn out over the course of decades, each sound rising up and smothering me in welcoming, moist warmth.

Now, now I am pure