Anyone with honey
parted the curtain slowly, giving his guest plenty of time to protest. The look
he was given was more an invite than refusal. Toeing off his socks, he raised
his hands up over his head, pulling his tee-shirt off slowly, watching himself
be watched. Shirt now on the floor, his fingers unbuttoned all five of his fly,
and his jeans were pushed down over his hips, kicked off his feet.
Stepping in the shower, he moved close, hesitant to touch first, but desiring it most of all. “I drank all your tea,” he said, tilting his head back as the taller blond’s descended. Their mouths met, and opened; hands found places both foreign and well-known to be. The kiss broke off abruptly with a groan as his hand found just where it was needed most. “I thought you would want a taste.” Quatre licked his lips, his hand stroking a lather soaked length. “Honey in tea is my favorite as well.”