Static Crush {M/M} ✔

Chapter #50

They arrive at their room, where Rayner fiddles with the key card before figuring out where to slot it. The light on the door blinks green. The lock clicks open. They push inside.

Hale nearly drops the bags he'd been carrying.
Ambient blue light with accents of pink fills the room, shining from the strip-lighting around the walls. Furniture, including a chaise longue, all appear wood-carved and upholstered in velvet. Except for the bed which is a sprawling thing covered in a down duvet and fur throw. The room is large, with a sunken living area where—Hale feels a twinge of curiosity—a claw-footed bathtub stands next to a tall window overlooking fields and the notched spine of a mountain range.

Two ferns frame the bath. It's the clear focal point of the room, with rose petals scattered around it and everything.

"I think Maci gave us the honeymoon suite," Rayner says.

"It appears so," Hale agrees.

"Well." Rayner drops the bags at the foot of the bed. "Have you ever had a bath?"

"No. Showers are more efficient."

Rayner's heartbeat takes up a tripping cadence in Hale's data streams, and he approaches the tub. "We're not in a rush, are we?" Rayner runs a finger along the porcelain rim. "It's big enough for two."

Comprehension dawns. "Oh."

In a rush, Hale dumps their bags of clothes and supplies on the bed. Rayner runs the water, holding a hand under the tap to check the temperature, asking Hale whether it's too hot or cold for him, if androids have a temperature requirement. His voice breaks with nerves.

Hale wants to reassure him, but he's anxious too. Rayner stands to face him. The babbling sound of the bath running doesn't drown out the roar of information Hale receives through his data streams, or his own racing heart.

To answer Rayner's question, Hale leans past him to run a finger under the tap. He receives a temperature readout of thirty-nine degrees centigrade and increases the hot water flow a touch. When he straightens, Rayner's hands move, hovering at Hale's hips a moment before settling there. Thumbs hooking under the hem of his shirt.

He peels Hale's shirt off first. Standing on tiptoe because Hale's taller. He drops the shirt. His hands go back to hovering.

Hale never felt any particular need for modesty—when he'd first changed in front of Rayner, he'd learned that Rayner absolutely did because he'd fled the room. Now Rayner undoes the clasp on his belt, and Hale doesn't feel modest, but he does feel a lot of other things. The whisper of fabric gliding over his skin. The cool air. Rayner's eyes on him. Then his hands. They've done this before, but this time there's no need for urgency. They can take their time, and the slowness of the moment makes undressing feel fragile. Intimate.

When he's finished Hale reaches for the hem of Rayner's shirt too, but Rayner stops him.

"I'm going to clean up in the bathroom first."

"The purpose of a bath is to clean up."

"Not this one. And I've got to, like, manscape 'n stuff."

"I like this though," Hale says, sliding a thumb under Rayner's shirt and over the line of belly hair, which occupied a frankly embarrassing proportion of Hale's thoughts. Rayner's breath catches.

"Not that kind of— Just get in the bath. I'll join you in a minute."

Hale's eyebrows shoot up in comprehension. He narrowly avoids saying, 'Oh you mean rectal douching!' out loud. Rayner grabs his duffel and one of the plastic bags then vanishes into the lavatory.