He breaks your heart with his soft-spoken, sincere words. You can imagine both scenarios playing a role in his refusal to live alone. You picture the little boy who voluntarily left home at 16 to live in a world created by fans with no pathway back to the baker he had been. And then you picture how frustrating it must be to find that someone he thought was a friend is actually using him. Your therapist empathy is creeping in, and you debate whether to push it aside, but in this case, you decide that empathy is a good thing. It helps you understand him on a deeper level.

He has paused in talking, and you notice the tenseness that grips his shoulders. Reaching out to touch his hand, all you say is, "That must be hard," and it's not a therapy tool. It's thoughtful caring for what his daily life is like.

Grasping your hand in his, he brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "Thank you. It is hard, but I'm used to it now."

The conversation lightens from there, and by the time you are drenched in sweat, you've covered favorite foods, most embarrassing memories, and the best clothing designer. As you reach for your towel and step off the treadmill, you smile at Harry, feeling completely comfortable.

"I'm going to take a shower now," you inform him, "and then I hope there's something good for dinner."

Grasping both ends of your towel, Harry maneuvers his face close to yours, "Planning to shower alone?"

Smirking, you give him "the look", your eyes roving from the top of his torso down to his ankles, "Well...." you start, "I guess showering together could save water."

Harry grins, his dimple deepening. "I am all about water conservation. Did you see that I donated a well for a village?"

You roll your eyes at his braggart ways, laughing freely, your head thrown back as the sound belts from your throat. As you're heading upstairs to the guest bedroom where you've left your bag, Harry's phone rings. He answers, "Whassup, Jerome?" and signals you towards the top of the stairs where the master bedroom is. Grabbing your gym bag, you head upstairs.

Harry is still on the phone when you get in the room, and he motions for you to start the shower without him. It's an amazing shower -- definitely large enough for two -- with jets on two walls, reaching from top to bottom; the tile has an inviting feel to it. Turning on the water, you allow it to heat up as you strip from your sweat-stained workout clothes, dropping them on the floor to pack away later in your gym bag.

Climbing in, protecting your hair from the spray with a corny looking shower cap, you look around for body soap, but all that's here is Harry's shower gel. Opening it, you take a sniff just as you hear the door being opened. You've turned the water on pretty hot, and the steam swirls with the influx of fresh air.

Harry has joined you, and looking at him unclothed, you suck in a breath at the sight of his magnificence. The last few times you've seen him naked, there were other considerations, so now you take your time examining his body. Starting at his neck, you pour some of the shower gel into your hands and rub your palms over the tattoos at his shoulders, lathering up the dates of his parents' births. Harry stands still, breathing hard.

It's obvious that this is a trial for him, not touching you. And even though you look silly in your shower cap, you also look amazing to him with your breasts out in full view. But he doesn't want to spook you, so he keeps his hands by his sides, fists clenched as he allows you the freedom to roam over his body.

This privilege -- the opportunity to touch him without repercussions -- is heaven. So many times you've looked at his photos from Another Man or concerts or some other photoshoot, and you've wondered if his skin would be warm and his muscles pliant under your hands. Now you know his muscles are firm, and you take your time running your hands over his arms, examining each tattoo as you add the soapy bubbles to his skin. There's the heart which is backwards for a human heart. There's the mermaid, and you spend extra time spreading soap on her exposed private parts, feeling sorry for her droopy breasts, although yours aren't much better. Somewhere in the mix are the nails and the anchor, and you lovingly lather each of them.

When you move to his chest, you spend extra time on the butterfly because it's one of your favorite tattoos. The number of hours he must have spent getting that detail makes your eyes well with pain. You are definitely not the type to get a tattoo of anything. And those laurels. Tsk. Tsk.

"I cannot believe you covered up those amazing V lines with these monstrosities." You admonish, as you apply your soapy hands to the laurels. Because you can, you trace a drop of water with your lips as it beads from his neck down to his belly button, causing both of you to shiver, even though the steam is rising around your bodies. His tummy and love handles are not as firm as his arm muscles, and because you want to pinch them, you do.

Harry laughs, momentarily removing your hands from his body in a protective gesture. "No tickling." But you have no intention of tickling him. You just want to touch. As your hands wander lower, you come in contact with his hardened cock. It's standing up, demanding attention, and you grasp it, pulling your soapy hands one after the other along his length. Harry buries his head in the crook of your neck, licking at the water that has collected there. "You don't have to do that." He whispers in your ear.

But you don't care what he says. You want to take care of this for him. Continuing to use your hands on his swollen member, you twist first one way and then the next as Harry buries his face in your shoulder, biting your skin occasionally to let you know that what you're doing feels good. When you remove your hands to slide around to his back before he's finished, he nearly cries out, but holds his tongue. You smile secretly because once you've soaped up his back, you reach your hands around his waist to once more hold his length in your hands, sliding back and forth on his flesh as he leans his head backwards, moaning.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, and you smile as you bite his shoulder blade.

"Taking care of you, Harry." You reply, continuing your movements until you feel him seize and squirt all over the wall. The jets wash away his cum, and he's slightly weak at his release, so you prop him up with your breasts pressed into his back until he pushes away from you to stand again on his own.

"My turn," he croaks, reaching for the shower gel.

==========

I do not know how I survived her hands roaming over me, and I think I deserve a medal for keeping my paws to myself throughout her assault. My orgasm has barely left me when I take the shower gel, impatient to return the favor. My eyes roam her amazing body, determining where to start my expedition.

She's only been with me for a few hours, and yet she's made me happier than I've been in a while. And I don't mean the orgasm. Because she's given me those, as have others. It's more that I feel free to be fully myself with her. Once my hands are covered in the sticky goo, I reach for her boobs first, watching the nipples bead up as I caress her skin, circling her areolas again and again, teasing carefully before I pinch the nipples between my fingers. She cries out, arching her back, and I am half-hard again.

I love watching her face, even with her hair in that ridiculous shower cap. She looks at me with heavy lidded eyes. "I didn't know my tits were so dirty, Styles."

"Mhm," I murmur, allowing my hands to wander over her toned tummy, "I'm sure there are other parts of you that are particularly dirty, too." The sexual repartee is going to tip her over the edge before my hands ever do, I think. Her eyes flare at my comment, and it's all I can do to keep my hands from wandering straight to her clit. Instead, I squat in the shower on one knee, soaping up her feet as she raises them one at a time to rest on my knee. As I glide my hands over her calves, I'm impressed with how muscular they are. That walking makes a huge difference apparently. Slowly, I soap her thighs, working my hands around closer to her pussy.

She's holding onto the sides of the shower now, moaning loudly. Just because I can, I ignore her curly nest and turn her around so I can wash her back. Standing up, I generously apply more of my shower gel to her back, kneading her muscles until she groans with pleasure. Only then do I slide my hand down over her ass, circling her rounded tush before dipping my finger into her cleft from behind, feeling her internal wetness coating my finger. She nearly falls over at the feel of my hand there, and I have to help her regain her balance, requiring me to remove my finger.

Grasping the wall for support, she growls at me. "Fuck, Styles. Warn a girl, would you?"

She's facing me now, and I wrap my hands around her backside, pulling her firmly against my body. "Okay. I'm warning you now," as I move one of my hands down into her curls, opening her pussy and thrusting one finger inside while I use my other hand to caress her clit in slow circles. Holding onto the shower walls with both hands on either side of her, she spreads her legs a bit more, and I fasten my mouth on her breast, suckling gently while my finger thrusts in and out of her.

"God, Styles. You are an expert at that. Do they have....oh, fuck," she pauses as I shift and add a second finger to the first, "Do they have award shows for this? Cause you deserve to win a whole trophy case full."

It makes me happy to give her pleasure. Switching to suckling her other breast, I also adjust the way my fingers stroke her clit, speeding up the pace. Three fingers moving inside her now, and she's bucking and getting close.

"Styles!!! I think....can I come, Styles? I really, really want to come."

Her asking permission is the hottest thing ever, and I focus harder on the job at hand. Get it? At hand? Ha! I crack myself up. And maybe she will laugh too, so I go ahead and tell her what I'm thinking. To my supreme joy, she howls loudly at my bad joke just before I feel her clench. And now she's grabbing my shoulders to maintain her balance as her orgasm rocks her body as she cries out "Styles!"

I continue stroking her sweet pussy until she stops convulsing around my fingers. Now that we've both managed to release our sexual tension, we gently wash off the traces of our love making and climb out of the steamy shower, toweling each other off.