Chapter 21: The Shower That Became More
The first thing Leonid registered was the sound of water running—a muffled, rhythmic hiss that pulled him from the depths of sleep like a hand reaching into dark water. His eyes cracked open, lashes sticky with the residue of dreams, and he found the space beside him empty. The sheets were still warm, carrying the faded imprint of Jensen's body.
He lay there for a moment, listening. The bathroom door was ajar, spilling a shaft of warm yellow light across the bedroom floor. Steam curled through the gap, carrying the scent of Jensen's expensive shampoo—something herbal and clean that cost more than Leonid's entire wardrobe.
Leonid smiled to himself, a slow, lazy curl of his lips. He pushed himself up, his joints protesting mildly, and padded across the bare floor. The apartment was still sparse, still waiting to be filled, but the morning light made it look like possibility rather than emptiness.
He pushed the bathroom door open and leaned against the frame.
Jensen stood in the shower, his back to the glass, water sluicing down the elegant line of his spine. The steam clung to him like a second skin, and through the frosted glass, his silhouette was a study in contradictions—the sharp blades of his shoulders, the impossible narrowness of his waist, the curve of his ass that Leonid had traced with his hands countless times.
Jensen hadn't noticed him yet. His head was tilted back, water running through his dark hair, his hands dragging down his face and neck. He looked, for a fleeting moment, almost peaceful—the savage edges smoothed away by heat and quiet.
Leonid stripped in silence. His t-shirt hit the floor first, then his boxers. His bare feet made soft sounds against the tile as he approached the shower, and it wasn't until the glass door slid open, letting out a burst of steam, that Jensen turned.
Those dark feline eyes widened, then narrowed with something that was equal parts pleasure and possessiveness.
"Couldn't sleep without me?" Jensen asked, his voice rough with wakefulness.
"Couldn't stay away." Leonid stepped into the shower, closing the door behind him. The water was hot, almost scalding, and he welcomed the sting. "Looked over and my favorite view was gone."
Jensen laughed—a genuine sound, not the sharp bark he used as armor. "Your favorite view? I'm your boyfriend, not a tourist attraction."
"Maybe you're both." Leonid reached for him, pulling Jensen against his chest, their bodies sliding together slick with soap and water. He pressed his lips to the spot behind Jensen's ear, the place that made him shiver every time. "Good morning."
Jensen's breath caught. His hands came up to grasp Leonid's forearms. "Good morning."
---
The water cascaded over them, steam rising in thick curls that fogged the glass and obscured the world beyond. Leonid's hands roamed Jensen's body with deliberate slowness, mapping familiar territory like he was discovering it for the first time. His lips traced down the column of Jensen's throat, lingering at his pulse point, feeling it flutter beneath his mouth.
"You didn't let me finish," Jensen murmured, his head tilting back to grant better access. "What I wanted to say last night—"
"Can wait." Leonid's teeth grazed Jensen's shoulder. "Right now I just want you."
Jensen made a sound that might have been agreement or protest. Leonid didn't care to distinguish. His hands slid down Jensen's slick body, fingers tracing the ridges of his ribs, the dip of his waist, until they reached the curve of his ass. He squeezed, pulling Jensen flush against him, letting him feel exactly what his proximity did to Leonid's body.
"Fuck," Jensen breathed. "Leonid—"
"Yes?"
"Shut up and touch me."
Leonid grinned against his skin. "Bossy this morning, aren't we?"
Jensen's answer was to reach back and grab a fistful of Leonid's hair, yanking his head up, pulling him into a hard, demanding kiss that tasted like toothpaste and want. Their tongues slid together, messy and desperate, and Leonid's hands tightened on Jensen's ass.
Then Jensen was spinning him, pressing his back against the cool tile, the shock of temperature contrast making him gasp into Leonid's mouth. Leonid took advantage, his hands sliding down Jensen's sides, his lips finding the hollow of his throat.
When Leonid broke the kiss, Jensen shuddered, his back arching against the tile.
"What do you want?" Leonid asked, his voice low and rough.
"You already know."
"I want to hear you say it."
Jensen's eyes fluttered open. They locked on Leonid's, dark and demanding, a silent challenge. Then his lips parted, and his voice was barely a whisper.
"Fuck me. Bend me over this shower and fuck me stupid."
---
Leonid didn't hesitate. He turned Jensen around, pressing his chest against the tile, the cold biting against his heated skin. Jensen gasped, his hands bracing against the wall, his ass pressing back eagerly against Leonid's cock.
"Greedy," Leonid murmured. He reached for the body wash—Leonid's, the lavender-scented one that Jensen always complained aboutbut never replaced. He slicked his hand, then reached between Jensen's cheeks, his fingers finding him already loose from the night before.
Jensen whimpered, pushing back against his fingers. "Leonid, come on—"
"Are you going to beg for it?"
"Fuck you."
"That's the plan." Leonid pumped his fingers inside Jensen, feeling the heat, the tightness. Jensen's head fell forward, his forehead pressing against the tile, his moans echoing off the steamy walls. "But I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you fucking ask for what you want."
Jensen's hands curled into fists. His voice came out ragged, desperate, stripped of all pretense. "Please. I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me until I can't think straight."
"Good boy."
Leonid pulled his fingers free and positioned himself, his cock pressing against Jensen's entrance. Jensen braced himself, his back arching, his body trembling with anticipation.
Then Leonid thrust in—one long, hard motion that buried him to the hilt in one stroke.
Jensen cried out, his body shuddering. Leonid's hand came up to cover his mouth, muffling the sound.
"Shh," Leonid whispered against his ear. "You're going to wake the whole building."
Jensen's response was a muffled, desperate moan that vibrated against Leonid's palm.
Leonid began to move. He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, each thrust driving Jensen harder against the tile. The water continued to cascade down, mixing with sweat and steam, making their bodies slide against each other with a friction that bordered on unbearable.
"That's it," Leonid grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."
Jensen's nails scraped against the tile. His moans were swallowed by Leonid's hand, but they escaped through his nose, high and desperate. His body was trembling, his legs shaking, his toes curling against the shower floor.
Leonid set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The sound of wet skin meeting wet skin filled the shower, mingling with the hiss of the water and Jensen's muffled cries. He drove deeper with every stroke, chasing a pleasure that felt like violence and tenderness all at once.
"You like that?" Leonid's voice was harsh, breathless. "You like being fucked against the wall like a dirty little—"
Jensen convulsed, his body tightening around Leonid's cock, his climax hitting him without warning. His cry was swallowed by Leonid's palm, but Leonid felt every shudder, every spasm. He watched Jensen's back arch, his toes curl, his body shake with the force of his release.
The sight of it pushed Leonid over the edge. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his groan guttural and raw, and came with a force that made his knees weak.
---
They stayed like that for a long moment—Jensen pressed against the tile, Leonid pressed against him, both of them breathing hard, the water washing away the evidence of their passion. Leonid slowly pulled out, his hand gentle against Jensen's hip, and turned him around.
Jensen looked wrecked. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed and satisfied. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, water streaming down the elegant lines of his body.
"That was—" Jensen started.
"Terrible?" Leonid's lips curled.
"Perfect." Jensen reached up, pulling Leonid into a soft, lingering kiss. "You're perfect."
"Stop trying to make me blush. It's not going to work."
"I'll find a way to make you blush." Jensen's smile was sharp. "Give me time."
They cleaned up slowly, trading lazy touches and softer kisses. Leonid helped Jensen wash his hair, his fingers working through the dark strands with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with their earlier roughness. Jensen returned the favor, his hands running over Leonid's chest, tracing the muscles beneath his skin.
When the water finally ran cold, they stepped out onto the bath mat, both of them reaching for towels. Jensen dried himself with quick efficiency, then wrapped his hair in a second towel, creating a messy turban that made him look absurdly young.
"I'm making breakfast," Jensen announced, already padding toward the door.
"You don't cook."
"I'll learn. I've watched videos."
Leonid blinked. "You've watched videos on how to cook?"
"Shut up. It's called personal growth." Jensen paused at the threshold, looking over his shoulder, his expression softening. "I want to take care of you, Leonid. In every way I can."
Leonid's chest tightened. He crossed the room, wrapping his arms around Jensen from behind, his lips pressing against the curve of his shoulder.
"How did I get so lucky?" Leonid murmured.
"I ask myself the same thing every day." Jensen leaned back into the embrace, his eyes closing. "Now let go of me so I can ruin breakfast."
"Never." Leonid squeezed tighter. He pressed another kiss to Jensen's neck. "Maybe I can help you cook."
"You're going to criticize my technique, aren't you?"
"Probably. But I'll also eat whatever you make and tell you it's delicious."
"That's all I can ask for." Jensen turned in his arms, his hands coming up to cup Leonid's face. "Also, you need to get dressed. We can't have you wandering around naked while I'm trying to focus on cooking."
Leonid laughed. "Says the man parading around in nothing but a towel."
"It's my kitchen, my rules."
"I'll find something to wear." Leonid pressed one last kiss to Jensen's forehead before releasing him. "But I'm coming right back, and you bet I'm going to watch you make scrambled eggs."
Jensen's grin was radiant. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, the towel catching the light, water droplets still beading on his skin.
Leonid watched him go. In the bare emptiness of their half-unpacked apartment, with the smell of lavender and sex lingering in the air, he felt something that had been foreign to him for as long as he could remember.
He felt safe.
---
The kitchen was a disaster. Jensen had found a skillet, some eggs, and a half-empty carton of milk, but he was clearly improvising. The pan was too hot, the eggs were sticking, and there was butter everywhere.
"Please," Leonid said, biting back a laugh. "Let me help."
"No! Stand back." Jensen waved a spatula threateningly. "I'm almost done."
The scrambled eggs looked more like a crime scene, but Leonid didn't care. He leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of water, watching Jensen's concentration as he poked and prodded at the eggs with the focus of a neurosurgeon.
"Okay," Jensen said finally. "I think it's done."
"Doesn't look terrible."
"High praise." Jensen plated the eggs, sliding them across the counter toward Leonid. "You get the first serving. Check for poison."
Leonid picked up a fork and took a bite. The eggs were rubbery, slightly burnt, and undersalted—the breakfast equivalent of a learning curve.
"Well?" Jensen asked, watching him intently.
"Delicious." Leonid kept his face neutral. "Best eggs I've ever had."
Jensen's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"I'm being supportive."
"Same thing." Jensen slid onto the stool beside him, his shoulder pressing against Leonid's, a plate of eggs untouched in front of him. "First breakfast in our new home. Even if they're terrible, this is still perfect."
Leonid wrapped his arm around Jensen's waist. "It really is."
They ate in comfortable silence—Jensen poking at his eggs, Leonid eating his portion despite the texture. When they were finished, Leonid gathered the plates and rinsed them in the sink, Jensen hovering behind him with a dish towel.
"You know," Jensen said, "this could be our routine. Every morning."
"Every morning?"
"Yeah. Wake up, shower, eat, go to work." He paused. "You're still taking that gap year, right? You're not going to decide to jump into a job and leave me here alone?"
Leonid turned, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm still figuring things out. But I'm not going anywhere, Jensen. I swear."
Jensen's expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. "Promise?"
"I promise."
They kissed—soft, slow, a promise in itself. Jensen's hands came up to cup Leonid's jaw, guiding him deeper, and Leonid melted into the warmth.
When they pulled apart, Jensen's eyes were glazed, a hint of their earlier passion returning.
"Thank you," Jensen whispered.
"For what?"
"For staying. For choosing this. For trusting me." Jensen's voice cracked. "I know I don't always make it easy."
Leonid cupped his face, his thumb tracing the curve of Jensen's cheek. "You make it worth it. Every difficult moment, every fight. You're worth it, Jensen."
"Even when I'm crazy?"
"Especially when you're crazy." Leonid laughed, pulling him closer. "I'd be bored without it."
Jensen snorted, but his eyes were wet. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot."
"Fuck." Jensen pressed his forehead to Leonid's, his voice thick. "You're going to make me cry, and I'm not ready to be emotionally vulnerable before noon."
"It's only ten in the morning, baby."
"Exactly. Too early for feelings."
---
The breakfast was long forgotten by the time Jensen pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffing loudly.
"Okay," he said, his voice regaining its usual edge. "Feelings break time is over. We have furniture to assemble and an apartment to make look like actual human beings live here."
Leonid laughed. "We could order takeout for lunch and have a picnic on the floor."
"The floor of our brand new apartment? How scandalous." Jensen was already walking toward the bedroom, grabbing a shirt from the pile of chaos by the door. "You know, for being a billionaire's son, I've never iKEA-assembled a single piece of furniture in my life. This should be exciting."
Leonid watched him pull on a loose white tee, the fabric clinging to his torso, and swallowed a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with breakfast.
"I'll be the assistant," Leonid said. "Hand you the Allen wrench, hold the shelf steady."
"And what would I do without you?"
"Probably lose your mind assembling a wardrobe by yourself."
"That's true." Jensen turned, a grin spreading across his face. "Partner in crime. That's what you are, Leonid Manoban."
Partner in crime. The words settled into the quietest corner of Leonid's chest, warm and steady.
"And what does that make you?" he asked.
"Better half." Jensen crossed the room, pressing a kiss to Leonid's cheek before heading toward the doorway. "Your better half."
The apartment around them was still a skeleton—boxes, sheets, the promise of furniture. But within the unfinished drywall and the half-broken cartons, a life was starting to take shape. A life they were building together.
Leonid followed Jensen into the main room, sunlight flooding through the windows. In the corner leaned a large flatpack box, contents spilling out: slats of white wood, a hand wrench, plastic bags of screws. The first piece of furniture for the first home either of them had truly known.
"We're doing it," Jensen said quietly, as if reading his thoughts, his eyes fixed on the window. "We're really doing it, aren't we?"
Leonid came up behind him, his front pressing against Jensen's spine, wrapping his arms around his chest. He lowered his chin to rest against Jensen's shoulder.
"We're really doing it."
Outside, the city hummed with a thousand distant lives. But inside the walls of their fresh, fragile sanctuary, Jensen and Leonid stood, interlocked, at the beginning of everything.
---
The first box split open with a satisfying crack. Jensen pulled out a hammer—because, of course, he'd bought a toolkit rather than just the furniture—and held it up like a sword.
"This is going to be the most expensive bookshelf in Seoul."
Leonid shook his head, kneeling to pull out the instruction manual. It was entirely in Korean, with diagrams that looked like they'd been drawn by a drunk engineer.
"We're doomed."
"Don't be so negative." Jensen dropped the hammer, peering over Leonid's shoulder. "That doesn't look so hard. You attach the side panel to the base, then—"
The side panel, which had been leaning against the wall, slid off its edge with a creak, clattering onto the floor.
"That looks hard," Leonid finished.
Jensen grinned, unrepentant. "We'll learn together."
And they did—sort of. They spent the next hour wrestling with the flatpack, Jensen reading the instructions aloud while Leonid screwed in bolts, both of them claiming superiority when it came to design sense and spatial reasoning. The bookshelf eventually stood, slightly crooked, victorious.
"See?" Jensen beamed. "We're unstoppable."
"You hung two shelf brackets at different heights."
"Artistic choice."
Leonid bit back his laughter. He turned and wrapped an arm around Jensen's waist, pulling him close. The apartment was still mostly bare, but now the crooked bookshelf felt like a monument—a proof of their new life, messy and imperfect and made by hand.
Jensen cursed as he hit his thumb with the hammer for the second time that hour, and Leonid couldn't hold in his laugh anymore. He pulled Jensen in by the jaw and kissed the frustration off his face.
"What was that for?" Jensen asked, breathless.
"For being you. For being here." Leonid kissed him again, unhurried. "For wanting to build this with me."
Jensen's smile was unguarded, raw, young, and infinite. He pulled back, and his voice soft.
"Baby, with you, I want to build everything."