Dear God, the man was beautiful! Firmly muscled, though incredibly, almost obscenely lean; everything looked so tight.

Alex forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to function on any level other than to drink in the sight. He came to moments later, only when David pushed the bundle of peculiar fabric into his hands. Even then, Alex stood watching the sculptured Adonis step into the shower. A soft moan from those perfect lips as the foreigner stepped under the water forced Alex’s mouth open before he resolutely snapped his teeth together to keep from duplicating the sound. He had finally remembered to breathe, but what was left of his concentration died as his knees loosened. His legs felt weak even as the rest of him remained taut and wired. Alex so needed to leave the room, but couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to not see.

Alex had taken the time to demonstrate the use of shower gel. Now, David confirmed he had the hang of using it. Having turned full circle to make sure he was wet all over, he faced the wall, filled his hand with a generous dollop of the coloured gel from the can, and lathered the slippery substance up in his hands. Alex’s attempt to explain the mousse would expand into foam, and that he need use only a little, now seemed redundant. As Alex watched the thick white cream spreading to cover every inch of that perfect skin, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat glad of the man’s extravagance.

Alex followed the path of those slender hands as they caressed every curve and slope, starting from the neck, moving down to the shoulders, and then to his sides. Muscles in his back rippled; the guy’s backside jumped and jiggled. Water droplets meandered in snaking trickles over his skin, joining to form heavier, fuller passages of thick, wet white foamy trails.

Alex caught himself leaning forward, his mouth opening, head tilting. His grip on the suit tightened as he imagined touching where those hands caressed, their fingers entwining. Almost as if he read Alex’s mind, the pale man moved his hands lower, soaping up his thighs and damn if Alex didn’t want to push those digits out of the way and use his own fingers. Would David protest if he stepped into the shower to join him? Alex swore he was poised to take a step, but dare not. He’d be lost, unable to stop. He could imagine the scene -- the other man shoving him off. Even if they couldn’t communicate in words Alex could picture the other man’s anger. His conscience and the anticipated humiliation were the only things holding him in place, but neither prevented his mind wandering.

Slippery and wet. Oh Godddddd. How would that soft skin feel under his hands, the soap and water smoothing the way? The show, just as amazing if not quite as satisfying as Alex’s daydream, held him transfixed, staring, even as he trembled. The right thing to do was to look away. Alex stood definitely not looking in another direction, flushing hot, mouth open, drawing in short jerky gasps of air. He was in danger of becoming light-headed. His chest now hurt. His body tingled. His fingers ached, though that could be because of the tight grip he had on the man’s white suit.