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One of the perks of being a lieutenant was having his own bathroom.
Clean tile. Warm light. A space just for him – and sometimes, just for them.
And they took full advantage of that.
Tonight, the bathroom was hazy with steam, the mirror fogged at the edges. It smelled like soap and heat and something unmistakably them – heady, heavy, and close.
Simon didn’t wipe the glass. He liked it that way. The center stayed clear – just enough to see the most important part.
Gary.
Bent forward over the sink, hands gripping the edge, bare chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. His back was arched, thighs parted, skin flushed.
Simon stood close – the warmth of him pressed against Gary, chest flush to his back, one hand heavy on his waist to hold him steady. His other hand wandered – sometimes at Gary’s hip, sometimes at his throat, sometimes threading through his hair like he couldn’t decide where to touch, only that he had to.
And inside-
Simon filled him completely.
His cock was buried to the hilt – stretching him wide. The soft, slick sound of it echoed off the tile, met only by the broken little noises that slipped past Gary’s lips – quiet moans, choked-off breaths, a soft whimper every time Simon bottomed out and stayed there, just for a beat, just to remind him who he belonged to.
Gary’s eyes fluttered shut.
He wanted to melt into it – to lose himself in the rhythm, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being held, stretched, filled. Each slow, grinding thrust from Simon pushed him further under, drowning him in warmth and want. His body welcomed it – open, pliant – like it had been made for this.
Simon leaned forward, breath warm against the back of Gary’s neck, lips brushing the edge of his ear. “You feel that?” he murmured, voice like gravel and smoke. “Every inch, right where you need it.”
Gary let out a broken gasp, barely able to nod. His whole body ached with it – a deep, coiling heat in his belly that twisted tighter with every roll of Simon’s hips. He couldn’t speak. Could barely think. His head stayed low, lashes fluttering, breath catching as if he could disappear from his reflection if he just didn’t look.
But Simon didn’t let him hide.
He reached up, fingers tangling in Gary’s hair and tugged his head back until their eyes met in the half-fogged mirror.
“Don’t look away,” Simon said, voice low, rough around the edges. “I want you to see yourself. See what you look like when I fuck you.”
Gary whimpered, already blinking slow and heavy. And when he did what he was told – when he finally looked – he nearly shattered all over again. His mouth was wet, lips kiss-swollen and parted. His cheeks were glowing, eyes glassy, blown wide and dark with submission. His body trembled with every slow, dragging thrust – the echo of Simon moving inside him, again and again, pushing that low heat into something brighter, sharper.
He looked wrecked.
He looked owned.
“You see that?” he rasped against Gary’s ear. “That’s what you look like when you’re getting fucked stupid. Made for this, weren’t you?”
Gary moaned, the sound catching in his throat.
Because it was true.
Simon kept fucking him, each thrust long and deep. Gary felt every drag of him – every stretch, every press against that spot that made his vision blur, that made his knees shake.
And God, he loved it.
Loved being held like this, split open and filled until nothing else existed – until there was no room in his head for anything but the thick weight of Simon inside him. The slick slide. The ache. The stars bursting behind his eyes every time Simon hit just right.
Simon didn’t let Gary look away.
His grip stayed firm in his hair, holding him in place. Every time Gary’s eyes started to flutter shut, Simon gave a soft pull, a silent reminder: watch.
He leaned in closer – chest flush against Gary’s back, breath hot at his ear – and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. Claiming.
The pace had turned relentless – hips snapping fast, deep, steady, with no room to breathe between thrusts. Every sound was louder now. Skin meeting skin in sharp, wet rhythm. Gary’s moans had gone breathless and high, no longer soft, no longer controlled. Just need.
“Keep looking,” he murmured. “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come on my cock.”
Gary whimpered, his reflection swimming with the blur of tears and pleasure. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, mouth hanging open around the softest sound – a gasp, a moan, a plea.
He was close. So, so close. The heat coiled low in his belly, winding tight, trembling under the surface like it was begging to break loose.
“ That’s it, baby – come for me,” Simon whispered, thrusts growing sharper, deeper.
Gary’s whole body tensed.
He came with a choked-out cry, his whole body tensing before it gave out – shaking as the heat in his belly burst open, flooding him with a pleasure so deep it felt like it came from the center of him. It rolled through his nerves in waves, sharp and sweet, leaving him breathless. His thighs trembled, fingers slipping against the edge of the sink, barely holding on as his body clenched around the cock still moving inside him.
And through it all, Simon made him watch.
Made him see the wreckage in the mirror – his flushed face, glassy eyes, the way his mouth hung open, too wrecked to speak.
He looked ruined.
Exactly the way Simon wanted him.
“Good boy,” he whispered, still fucking into him with hard, steady thrusts. “That’s it. Just like that. So fucking perfect.”
He kept moving – chasing his own release with sharp, urgent thrusts. His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering as he kept Gary spread open, filled, used. The overstimulation made him twitch, made him gasp through parted lips.
Still-
Gary watched.
Heavy-lidded, eyes glassy and soft, he stared at their reflection in the mirror. His lips were parted, cheeks flushed deep, a single tear slipping free as his body was pushed further, held right on that trembling edge between pain and pleasure.
Simon buried his face against the back of his neck, breath hot, lips brushing damp skin like a promise.
“Almost there, baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Just a little more-”
Gary felt Simon’s cock slam into him again and again, the slap of his balls against his own with every thrust. And when the edge was too close to hold back, Simon titled Gary’s head until their mouths met. The kiss was messy – open, breathless, desperate. Gary whimpered into it, giving in completely, letting Simon take whatever he needed.
Simon’s hand slid quickly from Gary’s hair down to his hips, where he gripped him with both hands now, pulling him down onto his cock roughly. When he came, the sound was a low, guttural moan, swallowed by their deepening kiss. His body trembled, hips stuttering through the final thrusts. He drew back slowly, only to snap forward again – sharp, fast – chasing the last pulses of release. His grip on Gary’s waist tightened, almost bruising, holding him in place as the warmth spilled between them, deep and unrelenting.
Thei kisses turned lazy, mouths brushing more than moving, the urgency long since faded into something warm and slow. When their lips finally parted, they didn’t go far – Gary stayed tucked against Simon’s chest, both of them still catching their breath.
Simon kept one arm around his waist, the other trailing light touches along his back. He pressed a few soft kisses to Gary’s shoulder, then to the side of his throat, murmuring things just for him – praises spoken low, almost like secrets.
“You did so good,” he whispered against flushed skin. “Always take me so well.”
Gary made a quiet, pleased sound, too relaxed to respond with anything else.
When the silence stretched, steady and comfortable, Simon finally shifted. He kissed the corner of Gary’s mouth one more time, then pulled back, slow and careful. The loss was immediate. Cum spilled onto the floor, and Gary whimpered softly at the sudden emptiness.
“We’re gonna need another shower,” Gary mumbled.
Simon huffed a quiet laugh, palm smoothing over Gary’s back.
“Yeah,” he said, mouth close to his ear. “Definitely.”