I swung my towel over my shoulder, leaving myself naked beside him, and stole his hair comb from the counter. I combed my hair flat against my head, parted at the side, in a very not-like-me hairdo. When Andrew finished brushing his teeth and saw it, he burst out laughing. “Mm-mm,” he hummed disapprovingly. Then he ran his fingers through my hair and took the comb, styling it to how he liked it apparently.
When I checked the mirror, he’d done it exactly how I normally wore it. It was shaved on the sides, long on top, and he’d made a quiff. Without a word, he started to foam his face with shaving cream, and I watched, transfixed, as he shaved. Stroke by meticulous stroke, he rid his face of white foam and scruff, carefully lifting and turning his face for the best angles.
I was surprised at how much I liked to watch him do this.
I surveyed my beard in the mirror. “Mmm, maybe I should shave.”
Andrew rinsed off his face and patted it dry with the towel off my shoulder. He shook his head. “Don’t change a thing.”
“You like my beard, don’t you?”
He smiled, almost shyly. “I do. I never thought about guys with beards before I met you, but I do, yes.”
I surveyed myself in the mirror again. “I do need to trim it though.”
“Trim is fine; don’t shave it.”
I smiled at his tone. “Sounds like an order.”
When I turned around, he was staring at my naked arse. When he realised I’d caught him ogling, he shrugged unapologetically. “I could get used to this view every morning.”
I nodded toward the shower. “I could get used to bathroom blowjobs every morning.”
He laughed as he walked out into his walk-through robe. “Those too.”
“Hey, can I borrow some toothpaste?” I asked.
“Sure, but I certainly don’t want it back.” He stopped, just short of removing the towel from his waist. He frowned. “I still don’t have a spare toothbrush. I thought I did, but I don’t.”
“I thought we decided it was too soon for toothbrushes anyway,” I said, half joking, half not. I held up my finger. “This’ll do till I get home.” I squirted some toothpaste onto my index finger and crudely brushed over my teeth with it. I rinsed and spat into the sink. “Better than furry teeth.”
“True,” Andrew said. He’d already donned some undies, but I had the immense pleasure of watching him pull on blue trousers and a white business shirt. As he was buttoning the shirt, he smiled at me. “You just gonna watch?”
“Yep.”
“Not gonna get dressed?”
I was still naked. “Only if I have to.”
“I’m not opposed—” He raked his eyes up and down my body. “—at all. But the general public might not appreciate the view.”
I had no clean clothes to wear, so with a shrug, I raided his wardrobe. I found some older black trousers, of which I rolled the cuffs up so they looked like they fit me. “You’ll have to think of me going commando all day,” I told him. He groaned, and I smiled as I plucked a pink T-shirt from the bottom of his pile of neatly folded shirts.
“I’ve never worn that shirt,” he said. “My mom bought it for me last year.” He looked me up and down. “How do you make those clothes look so good? I would never have worn them together.”
I pulled one of his grey knitted vests from a hanger and handed it to him. “With these pants?” He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Yep.”
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out but pulled the vest over his head anyway. I nodded approvingly and turned him around so he could see himself in his mirror. “Oh, that’s not bad.”
“Not bad? That’s fucking hot.” I put one hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. I ran my other hand over his arse and pulled him against me, lifting his leg around my hip, and plunged my tongue into his mouth.
When I was done kissing him, he stood there, stunned, somewhat violated and very kiss-drunk. He smiled lazily. “Wow.”
I laughed at him. “Now you can think about that all day too.”
He slowly adjusted himself. “Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.” I collected my pile of clothes from his bedroom floor. “Come on, or you’ll be late for work.”
He looked at the rumpled bed, then back to me and licked his lips. “I’m considering calling in sick.”
I laughed at him. “No you’re not. I won’t be held accountable for your lack of productivity.”
He walked past me to the door. “If we stayed here, we could be very productive.”
Now it was me who had to adjust himself, which thankfully he didn’t see. I’m pretty sure if he did, we wouldn’t be leaving his house any time soon. When I got down the stairs behind him, he was sitting on the sofa pulling on his socks and shoes, and when he was done, he picked up the paper bag he’d thrown there last night.
He slid the books out I’d bought him and sighed. “Thank you again, for buying me these. Well,” he amended, “the cooking one not so much, but this one… this one I love.” He stared at the Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? book I’d picked for him. He looked up at me then. “And thank you for not going home last night, for not giving up on me.”
“You’re welcome.”