Monty stood outside the bathroom, shoulders slumped, his bare chest rising and falling with a storm of emotions. The soft hiss of running water beyond the door only amplified the silence between them. He leaned his forehead gently against the wooden frame, whispering to no one, "I'm sorry, Romy… I didn't mean to hurt you."
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
Romy stood there, water droplets glistening on his skin, his hair already soaked, dark strands clinging to his forehead. His eyes, once filled with fire, were now softer, still stormy, but touched by something gentler. Forgiveness, maybe. Or longing.
Without a word, Romy reached out, took Monty's wrist, and pulled him inside.
The warm steam enveloped them both, the air thick with heat and heartache. As soon as Monty stepped in, the water rained down over him, soaking his skin, matting his hair, tracing trails down his tense body.
Romy looked into his eyes, voice low and trembling, "I don't know what tomorrow holds, Monty… I don't know what we'll have to pretend… but right now…" he stepped closer, their chests almost touching "…right now, I just want to live this moment with you. Just this one moment. Honestly. Completely."
Monty swallowed hard, a breath catching in his throat.
Something inside him broke open, whatever dam of resistance or guilt or confusion he'd been holding back collapsed in a rush of emotion. With a sudden, urgent movement, he cupped Romy's face, his large hands trembling slightly.
"I wanted this the moment I saw you," Monty whispered, water streaming down his cheeks like tears. "I tried to bury it. Hide it. But I can't anymore."
And then he kissed him.
It wasn't a cautious kiss. It wasn't shy or soft or polite.
It was raw, hungry, and desperate.
Monty's lips crashed into Romy's like they were made for this, like they had been waiting years for this exact collision. His fingers tangled in Romy's dripping hair, pulling him closer, crushing their mouths together. The kiss deepened, tongues tasting, breathing each other in, swallowing every unspoken word, every regret.
Romy moaned into his mouth, his hands roaming Monty's slick back, nails grazing his skin, leaving trails of need in their wake. He pressed closer, their wet bodies flush, slipping slightly against one another, skin to skin beneath the downpour.
Monty slowed, just for a breath. He gently bit Romy's lower lip, sucking on it as if trying to memorize the taste. Then he kissed him again, slower now, but no less intense. His lips moved over Romy's with reverence, as if each kiss could make up for the pain, the confusion, the fear.
"I'm yours," Monty whispered against Romy's mouth. "In this moment, I'm only yours."
Romy's eyes fluttered shut, a tear mixing with the rain on his face. He leaned in, rested his forehead to Monty's, their breaths mingling between them.
"No more lies," Romy murmured. "Not here. Not tonight."
Monty nodded, lips brushing Romy's once more. "No more lies."
And in the warmth of the shower, under the water that washed away everything but the truth, they kissed again.
Steam curled around them like a lover's embrace, a veil of warmth that hid the rest of the world from view. Monty turned slowly in Romy's arms, water streaming down his back, tracing every curve and contour with liquid devotion. Their eyes met — close, intense, locked in the quiet thunder of everything unspoken but deeply understood.
Romy's hands found Monty's waist, thumbs pressing in just enough to ground him. "You feel like home," he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion, laced with reverence.
Monty didn't reply — he didn't need to. He lifted his hand to Romy's face, brushing a soaked strand of hair from his brow. Then, with aching tenderness, he leaned forward and kissed him again. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't about hunger or need. It was the kind of kiss that speaks of belonging, of finding the one person who sees you even when you're stripped of everything else.
Romy backed him gently into the wall, their bodies aligning like two melodies in perfect harmony. The tile was warm at Monty's spine, but Romy's chest against his was fire. Every heartbeat passed through skin and bone — a silent percussion of love rediscovered. They kissed slowly, deeply, exploring one another as though it were the first and last time all at once.
Monty's hands slid across Romy's back, gripping him closer as they moved together, the friction of skin against skin stoking the embers between them. Water cascaded over their heads and shoulders, making them gleam like sculpture—real, strong, vulnerable.
There was no rush. Only rhythm. Only reverence.
Every breath, every movement, was a silent vow. A promise etched in gasps and shivers. Romy's lips traced the lines of Monty's neck, down to the curve of his shoulder, each kiss branding him with warmth and worship. Monty closed his eyes, surrendering to the slow burn kindling in his chest, his stomach, his soul.
They held on to each other like lifelines in a storm — because in truth, that's what they were.
Their bodies moved as one, water washing away hesitation, cleansing every lingering shard of guilt or fear. The space between them disappeared until there was only the hush of steam, the sound of hearts racing, and the soft murmurs of names whispered like prayers.
And when they finally rested, breath tangled, foreheads pressed together beneath the calming drizzle, the silence said everything.
Monty smiled, eyes heavy-lidded but glowing.
Romy pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his cheek, then one over his heart. "We don't need to know the future," he whispered. "Just this… just us… for as long as we can hold on."
Monty nodded, his fingers brushing Romy's soaked jaw. "Then let's hold on tight."