Warm on the Tile

They had named it on the path, in the rain, like a dare they were finally done orbiting.

Nine kilometres. Mara's flat. The shower that barely fit two people if one of them was willing to be against the glass. Nick locked the bathroom door out of habit even though they lived alone, stripped his wet shirt, and looked at her like the run had only been the wait.

"Still want it?" he asked.

Mara was thirty-eight. He was forty-one. They had talked about this for months, half joke and then not, until last week she had said she wanted to piss on him and watch him take it, and he had gone so hard he had to pull the car over.

"I want it," she said. "On you. Then you on me. Shower on so we don't flood the idiot landlord's ceiling."

He turned the water hot. Steam took the mirror. Mara stepped in first, still in her knickers, and shoved them down. Nick followed, cock already thick, and went to his knees on the tile because that was how he had said he wanted to start. Water beat his shoulders. Mara stood over him, one hand in his hair, the other spreading herself.

"Open your mouth," she said.

He opened it. She let go. The first rush was hot across his tongue, sharper than she had warned him, and he groaned and swallowed because he had promised he would. Piss ran over his lip, down his chin, onto his chest. Mara aimed lower and soaked his cock, then back up, painting his throat while he stroked himself under the stream. The shower diluted it and did not hide it. The smell was there, clean from the run and still unmistakable, and Nick looked drunk on it.

"More," he said.

She gave him the rest, a hard stream against his open mouth and then across his face when he tipped his head back. He licked what reached his mouth. His hand moved faster. Mara watched his cock jump and felt her own cunt clench, empty and aching.

"Up," she said.

He stood. She turned, braced on the tile, and looked back. "My tits. My cunt. Don't piss in me. On me."

Nick pressed against her back, cock sliding between her thighs, and let go. Heat poured over her stomach, ran down through her cunt, slick and shocking, and Mara moaned and reached down to spread it with her fingers. He kept going, pissing on her clit while he rutted against her arse, the water and the stream mixing on her skin. She rubbed herself in it until her legs shook.

"Fuck me," she said. "Now, while I'm wet with you."

He pushed in. She was soaked, from herself and from him, and he sank to the base in one thrust. The shower roared. Nick fucked her against the tile, one hand on her throat not squeezing, just holding, the other mashed against her clit. Every thrust smeared the mess between them. Mara came fast, cunt gripping him, crying out at the glass. He pulled out before he finished, turned her, and came across her tits and stomach in thick white ropes that the water immediately began to take.

They were not finished. Mara sank down, took his softening cock in her mouth, and sucked him clean, tasting piss and come and her own cunt. He hardened again halfway through, sensitive, hissing, and she kept him there until he begged. Then she stood, put a foot on the ledge, and told him to kneel and clean her.

Nick licked her cunt under the spray, nose buried, tongue pushing in, swallowing water and the last of what he had given her. Mara held his head and ground on his mouth until she came a second time, thighs tight around his ears, pissing again in a shorter rush that he drank without being asked. He groaned into it and stroked himself through his second orgasm against her shin, spilling on the tile between her feet.

They stayed under the water until it ran cool. Mara soaped his chest. Nick kissed her, open, unashamed. On the bathmat she laughed once, shaky, and said they were absolutely washing the towels twice.

"Worth it," he said.

She looked at the mark of water on the glass and smiled. "Again next week. I want you on your back."

They did not get out at once. Nick soaped her shoulders, then her breasts, thumbs passing over her nipples until she shivered and swatted him. The water had gone lukewarm. The tile under his knees had printed red marks he would feel on the sofa. Mara looked down at him, hair plastered, mouth swollen from kissing, and felt the aftershock low in her belly, a small greedy pulse.

"Say what you liked," she said. "Properly. No joke."

He rested his forehead against her stomach. "The heat. The taste. You aiming. You telling me to open my mouth like it was ordinary. Watching it run over my cock and then fucking you while you were still covered in it." His ears went red even now. "And you pissing on my tongue the second time. I nearly came before I touched myself."

Mara's hand tightened in his wet hair. She had not expected the confession to make her want him again this fast. She shut the water off. In the sudden quiet the bathroom sounded like breathing and the drip from the showerhead. She stepped out, sat on the closed lid, and spread her thighs.

"One more. Small. Then towels."

Nick knelt on the bathmat, naked, cock heavy and spent against his thigh. Mara held herself open and let a short hot stream go, straight onto his waiting tongue, then down his chin when she shifted. He swallowed what he could and groaned, one hand braced on her knee. She finished over his chest in a weaker rush, rubbed it into his skin with her foot, and laughed when he caught her ankle and kissed the bone.

"Animal," she said, fond.

"Your animal." He stood, shaky, and wrapped her in the least ruined towel. They left wet prints down the hall. In bed, clean enough, she put her hand on his cock under the sheet and found him half hard again from memory alone. She did not stroke him off. She just held him, thumb on the vein, and said next week he was on his back with his mouth open and his hands where she put them.

He said yes before she finished the sentence.