Well-Fogged Windows

A NOTE from the Gardener: As many readers know, I rarely do follow-ups on stories. However, this is a significantly shorter entry than many of the others on my profile. For that reason, if the reception is positive to the first part, it may very well get a follow-up in the near future. A huge thank you to Mr. Cricket's Violin and to Meghan Reele for their inspiration and editing on this story.

I came awake with a slightly startled jerk, panting in the blackness of the bedroom as the reeling vertigo slipped away. It took me a moment to remember where I was, and who was with me. I was in Alyssa's parents bed. Around me, everything was dark except where a bit of weak moonlight filtered in through the window blinds on the far side of the room. Even after the vertigo faded, my head felt slightly floating. Maybe I was still a bit stoned--or more than a bit stoned.

Alyssa, Riley and I had spent the final four hours of the previous night smoking bowls of Northern Lights; some strain of indica that Alyssa had picked up from the local dispensary, and watching Disney movies. I remember giggling uncontrollably at Beauty and the Beast, and only a little bit of The Little Mermaid. Let me tell you, when you're head-spinningly stoned, you suddenly remember why Ursula was a scary bitch when you were eight years old.

Rolling over, I tucked a pillow beneath one arm and used it to prop up my head. Beside me, Riley was a sleeping shape in the darkness. Little more than a bundle of messy blankets and auburn hair. The curve of a brown-skinned ear and cheek peeked out from beneath the tangled curls. As I turned over, I could feel the sheet-lines which had been left in the skin of my back. I shifted again, and then gave up.

My bladder was pressing against the bottom of my body. I'd forgotten to pee, before going to bed. Sliding one leg out from beneath the sheets, I shuffled my feet, searching for the shorts I'd dropped on the carpeted floor before crawling into bed. I found them, sliding one foot through the leg hole and pulling them up. My hair hung down my back. A blonde braid, slightly rough from sleep. Reaching up, I tucked a couple of the escaped strands back, behind either ear. Glancing at the bathroom entrance, I looked back at Riley--there was no door, and while I was pretty sure the light wouldn't wake her, I didn't want to risk it. Instead, I crept through the darkness of the bedroom to the hallway door. Easing it open, I silently thanked the cover of carpeting for masking my footsteps.

As I left the room, I glanced at the clock over the fireplace. We'd gone to bed shortly after two-AM; as I tried to read the hands through blurry eyes, I realized that it was now only shortly before five-AM.

We'd been using Alyssa's house over the Christmas holidays, because her parents were out of town. They'd flown to the Dominican to visit extended family, and Clark--her brother--was staying with a friend of his. Which is why, as I stepped down the stairway and into the living room, instead of making my way across the entire living room and into the main floor bathroom, I turned right and slipped through the open doorway into Clark's room. He had his own private bathroom, something that Alyssa was jealous of. Perks of being the older sibling, I suppose.

I'd known the siblings for years. Alyssa, Riley and I had been friends since grade-school. Even now that we'd all gone off to University in separate states, we always met up when we came home for holidays--like we were doing now.

Maybe it was the fog of sleep. Maybe it was the space I was in; somewhere between the floating headiness of my earlier high and the come-down. Maybe it was the darkness, or the fact that the sound was so ordinary that my brain simply discounted it. Whatever the reason, I didn't hear the running of the shower until after I'd stepped through the doorway.

Until after I'd seen Clark.

The only light in the room came from one of those plug-in lights above the sink counter, and didn't reach nearly far enough to illuminate the room properly. The shower was tucked away in the corner, bordered on two sides by glass walls, and square-crossed granite tiling on the others. It was there that Clark stood; water on, running over his shoulders and the back of his neck. His head was turned down, giving me only the impression of broad shoulders, a water-slick chest and the shadow-darkened pink of nipples, and the width of his hips, his legs dissolving behind the haze of steam-fogged glass.

Not low enough to hide the fact that he was masturbating. The hand which wasn't pressed to the glass was wrapped around his penis, tugging forward and backward in a way that, to me, looked almost painful. For a full second, my brain stuttered--I froze, one step between the bedroom and the darkened doorway. My thoughts clicked into place, but they were like the slides in those fake childrens' binoculars; too slowly, and one at a time.

Clark's home. I'm in his bathroom. He's jerking off. He hasn't seen me yet. I need to leave. I need to leave.

My eyes were locked on the figure in the shower. Now that I knew he was there, and what he was doing, the sound of his breathing had become obvious. I saw the muscles of his stomach tense slightly, the small streams of water tracking between the deep-set lines of it. Changing the angle of his hand slightly, more upward, Clark let out a sound that was... well, whatever it was, it was enough to make the small hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Somewhere between a grunt, and a shortened groan.

I have to leave. In the back of my brain, a treacherous little thought appeared: But do you?--It whispered. I grabbed the thought by the neck and throttled it, before it had a chance to sway my decision. Keeping even my breathing shallow, I took a half-step backward. Toward the carpeted safety of the bedroom behind me.

Whether I'd made a sound, inaudible to my own ears, or it was just a matter of timing, or some kind of sixth-sense that told him he was being watched, I don't know. Maybe I never will. Clark opened his eyes. Mine widened. I watched it happen, as if in slow-motion; his hazy blue eyes, slightly unfocused with arousal and still aimed toward the bathroom floor, caught sight of me. Maybe just my feet, at first. They opened a fraction wider, matching my own, jerked upward, and locked on mine. We stared at one another over the five feet of barely-illuminated, empty bathroom which separated us.

"Fuck!" His hand left a clear imprint against the foggy glass as he pushed himself backward, rushing to cover himself with his hands, "What the fuck--"

"I'm so sorry," I whirled around, mortification making my cheeks burn. My voice, strangled as it was, barely sounded like my own. But something wouldn't let me run--not until I'd apologized properly, "Sorry, Clark! I didn't think... I thought you were at a friends."

"Jesus--Cassie?" His voice was a bit hoarse; for whatever reason, it sent the flush flooding from my cheeks, down my neck, and into the front of my breasts. To my surprise, he let out an explosive breath. I heard his exhale, magnified by the half-glass rectangle in which he stood. It seemed to fill the whole room, "Thank God. Sorry, I thought you were Alyssa."

He thought I was his sister. Well, that explained the violence of his initial reaction--I mean, besides the obvious reasoning. It was almost enough to make me laugh, through the thick layer of my embarrassment. My cheeks were still burning; I desperately wished that it was only embarrassment, but I knew that it wasn't. Even as I turned my chin up, staring at the ceiling overhead, I couldn't get the image of Clark's cock out of my mind. To me, it was still hard; glistening with wetness, wrapped in the tunnel of his hand.

I noticed, as I studied the slightly scuffed stucco of the ceiling, that he hadn't told me to get out.

"What, uh--" he cleared his throat, "What can I do for you?"

"I was just," I blinked a couple of times, rapidly, "uhm, I'm sorry again. I was just looking for somewhere to pee--"

I'll go use the other washroom, the follow-up statement was on the tip of my tongue. But I guess that Clark thought that I was finished, because he spoke before I had a chance to.

"Uh, yeah. Go for it."

For a moment, it felt like both my heartbeat and my breathing stopped. My mind fought, trying to make sense of that statement. Did he mean--Here? I slowly closed my mouth, which had remained open since I finished speaking, touching my tongue to the curve of my bottom lip as I did so. I thought about dismissing the idea out of the hand, because it was ridiculous. Maybe it was the fact that this whole thing was ridiculous; the meeting, the conversation, and most of all, the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about what he had been doing. Maybe that's what made me consider it.

Or maybe it was just the fact that, though I'd forgotten it in my flood of mortification up until this moment, I really did have to pee. Somewhat desperately. In the end, the final fact was what decided it for me. Casting a quick glance at the shower, I followed the edge of the counter. The toilet was tucked away beside it, in the far corner of the room. Opening the cover, I slid my shorts down below my knees and sat.

In the shower, Clark had turned his back to me. I didn't know whether he knew I was watching him, but I was. Now that we both knew where the other was, it made me feel slightly more justified in letting my eyes linger; on the broad, slightly curved swell of his back; on the dimples on either side of the ovals that made up his bum; on the space where they bent in, overhanging the heavy roundness of his thighs. He raised his hands, dragging his fingers back through the tangled mass of his hair. A few drops of water splashed on the back of the glass door as he shook them free.

Thankfully, the sound of the showerhead just about covered the sound of my peeing. Finishing, I unrolled a couple sheets of toilet paper and wiped quickly, dropping them into the toilet and flushing it. As I passed the plug-in light, I blocked out the white-green of its glow, casting a longer version of my shadow

"Anyways," I pressed my lips together for a moment, "Sorry about, uh... Interrupting you. I'll let you get back to it."

I wasn't sure what I expected Clark to follow that statement with. Silence, maybe, or embarrassed laughter, or even a bit of annoyance. What I definitely didn't expect was the self-assured chuckle, bass enough that I thought it should have made the mirrors on the wall rattle in their frames. It was mostly due to the chamber of the shower, I knew, but it was still his voice. As I stepped through the open doorway, I caught the rounded handle with the tips of my fingers and pulled it closed behind me.

Not quite fast enough not to catch his parting words: "Thanks. Will do."

As the door closed, all of the breath left my lungs in a rush. I felt a bit of the heat ebb from my cheeks, but only a bit. Instead of leaving right away, I leaned back against the door of the bathroom. I could feel the straight, decorational divots in the wood--strangely, it was only then as the wood touched by bare back, that I remembered I haven't been wearing a shirt. I suppose it was the shock of the moment; and the fact that Clark had been... well, more naked than I was.

A small part of me wondered if he'd noticed. Probably. But he hadn't mentioned it.

The room was already dark, but the darkness became complete as I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. I waited until it came, if not easily, then at least less hurriedly. Unfortunately, the moment that my eyes closed, I saw it again.

The way his hand had looked; the standing lines of tendons over the back of his knuckles, the small ridge of skin that stood and folded where his thumb crossed over the front of his pointer finger, the shape of his well-trimmed nails. How did it not hurt? I wondered. The motions had seemed almost violent, in the moments before he saw me; definitely harder than I'd ever been, the few times I'd given handjobs. Was that the way it was supposed to be?

Opening my eyes, I once more found myself staring at the ceiling. I worried my lip with my teeth; thinking, but at the same time, not really thinking. My mind buzzed. I could still hear Clark's laugher, in the back of it, and the statement that had caught me so off-guard: Go for it.

... Go for it.

Fuck it.

Before my brain had a chance to remember that I was a coward, I turned around and twisted the handle of the door, pushing it open. It swung inward, and I closed it behind me. Reaching out, I flicked the closest switch on the light panel beside the door. Immediately, the bathroom lights sprang to life, illuminating the space. Shit. Flicking it back off, I hit the second switch. This time, only a smaller light above the shower turned on. It was a bit dimmer than the overheads. With it, I could clearly make out Clark's figure. His head was tilted back, under the stream of water from the showerhead; his eyes had been closed, but opened when the lights came on.

Walking to the shower door, I leaned one shoulder against the glass. He still hadn't said a word. For a moment, we stared at one another wordlessly. Almost as if we were sizing one another up.

"On second thought," I spoke slowly, "I think I owe you one."

I could actually see the thoughts turning over, behind the steady blue of his eyes. He was still standing beneath the water, and two steady lines of it tracked down either side of his face; catching on the bottom of his chin and falling to the tiled flooring. He'd obviously shaved recently; the bottom of his cheeks and chin were covered by little more than a shadow, not quite stubble, but just enough that I knew it would feel rough beneath my fingers.

"I dunno, Cass--" he used the short version of my name, either by coincidence or to remind me that we'd known each other since we were twelve. Well--since I was twelve, and he was fifteen.

I raised my hand, tapping my nails against the outside of the glass door. They were French manicured, a quarter-inch curve of white around the end, and glossy with clear-coat above my finger. Clark's eyes moved subtly downward, to my hand and then to the breasts behind it, and then back to mine.

"Look," I negotiated, "I'll give you a hand," I barely stopped myself from grinning at the bad pun, "but you have to open the door. That's the deal."

He hesitated another moment. Then, raising one arm, he wrapped his hand around the metal bar of the shower door. His eyes stayed focused on mine, and out of the corner I saw an shallow line stand out between his bicep and his shoulder as he pulled it inward.

Without another words, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and dropped them. Kicking them aside, I stepped over the small granite sill and into the shower. It wasn't a large space; just wide enough for us to stand beside one another, barely touching. He wasn't fully hard, but his cock still bumped against my hip as he turned to make room for me.

"Sorry."

"For what?" I reached down, taking him into my hand. There was a small hitch in the pattern of his breathing, as my fingers wrapped around the bottom of his shaft, pressing its top into my palm, "That's what I'm here for."

He cleared his throat, but the sound stretched into a closed-mouth groan as I began to stroke his cock. It stiffened further, standing straight out from between his hips. As I looked down, to where the head of it poked out beneath my wrist, I noticed that it was slick with a substance that the shower water couldn't account for. Raising my thumb, I smoothed it over the head of his cock; as it opened the small hole in its tip, I saw Clark's toes curl, pressing against the granite floor. Reaching out, he took hold of the grabrail with one hand, as if he'd suddenly lost strength in his legs. Pressing my teeth into my bottom lip, I tried to hide my smile of satisfaction.

"Fuck," Clark breathed out the word, swallowing before he continued, "Do that again?"

I drew my thumb up the head of his cock, and was rewarded when it lurched slightly in my hand. His grip tightened around the grabrail, turning the normally round fronts of his fingers almost completely flat.

"That's... intense. But I actually meant the lip thing."

"Oh," I let out a low laugh, "my bad."

Tucking my bottom lip behind my teeth, I pushed it forward with the tip of my tongue. Clark's eyes were rivetted on my mouth, and he exhaled softly through partially parted lips. I repeated the action, this time using only the right side of my mouth, catching the curve of my lip with the tip of my front tooth and pinching it there. For effect, I gave a quiet moan, from the back of my throat. I was still rubbing his cock, but it wasn't nearly as quickly or as forcefully as he'd been doing earlier.

Do I dare? The question hung in the back of my mind, taunting me.

Taking a half-step forward, I increased the motion of my arm slightly. I was rewarded by an increase in the depth of Clark's breathing. Now, each time he inhaled, the bottom of his chest brushed against my nipples. They stiffened quickly, poking into the top of his stomach. In my hand, his cock had gone glossy with precum as my fingers gathered it from the head and spread it downward. I felt the sticky slickness of it, on the inside of my fingers. I noticed that Clark had closed his eyes, and I pressed my shoulder into the indent of his chest. The speed of my stroking increased further, and I tightened my pinky finger slightly, so that it squeezed at the head of his penis with each pass.

When his eyes opened, I felt my mouth go dry. Twelve years--twelve years, and I'd never seen that look on Clark's face. The studs of his jawline stood out, behind the top of either cheek. His blue eyes, which had only ever held a kind of easygoing lethargy, had suddenly gone as hard as his cock. Staring up at him, I drew a deep breath through my nose. Without having to touch myself, I knew I'd become wet; so suddenly that it almost made me weak in the knees.

I didn't say a word, as he reached one hand up and cupped it around the back of my neck. I expected him to kiss me--he didn't. Instead, he turned me around and pushed me up against the glass of the shower wall. I gasped, and my breath fogged the window for a couple inches in front of my open mouth, clearing quickly as I inhaled once more. I still had a grip on Clark's penis, but was forced to release it as he stepped forward, bending my arm at the elbow. His cock slid between my legs, rubbing under the cheeks of my bum and pushing deeper. Reaching up, I wrapped my fingers around the top of the shower wall. Submission hit me square in the belly, feeling his hand leave my neck and wrap around the highest point of my braid.

Gone was the embarrassed, slightly uncertain boy.

As he slid between my legs, I arched my hips back; better for his added height. I felt myself parted by the length of his cock. Not entering me, but sliding between my lips and then pulling back with the motion of his hips. With each smooth motion, the head of his cock caught my clit, causing it to throb. Each breath pushed my breasts against the glass wall of the shower, harder and flatter than even his chest had been. The hardness of my nipples, pressed backward into the soft skin around them, was enough to break my until-now steady breathing into a series of open-mouthed gasps.

My forehead almost smacked the glass, as the pressure disappeared from my hair. He reached around, wrapping one large hand over my mouth. I felt his thumb pressing up the skin of my cheek, the rest of his hand taking a secure hold of me.