Description
Without preamble Sam tugged off his damp, sticky tee-shirt, tossing it into a cloth hamper nearby. Carson struggled not to ogle Sam’s marblelike body, chiseled from manual labor and rippling with muscles that begged to be taunted and teased, sinewy and stiff beneath smooth, tan skin.
Sam had his back to Carson, who stood gawking, grateful for the privacy to do so! Turning the spigot, Sam took gulping hands full and splashed them over his body, the smooth, bronze skin gleaming under the fresh coat of silken liquid. Carson stood frozen, stock still, memories from past summers flooding his mind as emotions swirled and his cock twitched, sweaty and damp in his own drawers.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the moment frozen in time, each drop of water drizzling down Sam’s strong, compact muscles a delirious slow-motion tease as Carson struggled to take it all in, breathless at the sights and splendor before him: Sam, stripped to his waist, big hands wet and splashing, over his back, under his armpits, across his taut, banded chest and down, across his defined abs until the waistband of his work shorts was freshly damp.
The water rushed, matching the flow of blood through Carson’s ears as he stood, transfixed, until Sam moved, slightly breaking the spell. Their eyes met as Sam reached for a thin white towel, the industrial kind he probably bought by the bushel, the same as his thin, green employee tee-shirts.
“Something wrong?” There was a challenge in Sam’s tone, to match the sizzle in his wide eyes and his cocky, macho stance.
Carson bluffed, tugging off his shirt as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, standing half-naked in a sealed garage, watching his old high school crush splash himself silly, as his cock, lively and lean, danced in his sticky briefs.
“Thought you said you weren’t hitting the gym anymore,” Carson huffed, taking Sam’s place at the sink as he stood by its side.
Sam glanced down at himself as if surprised to find his torso glistening, slick muscles illuminated by the dim garage bulbs as if on the set of a fancy cologne ad.
“Not as much free time as I had back in school,” he murmured, eyes struggling to keep eye contact as Carson bent toward the sink. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Carson lied, the water cool on his dirty hands as he, too, began to splash and slather himself at the sink’s gushing faucet. The water was blissfully silken on his flushed skin, making him momentarily forget the sexy, half-naked jock at his side as he made quick work of slathering his arms and pits and torso clean. Or, at least, as clean as he could in such rustic trappings.
When he turned off the spigot and glanced over, he found Sam holding out the same damp towel he’d just used. Carson grinned. He took it eagerly, smelling Sam’s skin, his sweat, feeling his heat, as he made quick work of scrubbing himself quickly, watching Sam watching him.
“Maybe one day,” Sam said, voice a notch lower than it had been mere moments earlier as he nodded at Carson’s arms. “You’ll explain all those tattoos to me.”
