Guide To Surviving Prison Is Getting Screwed By General Lily! [BL]

Ruaan pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the chair.

Then his trousers.

He stood in his boxers and looked at Harolin standing across from him in just his pants.

Harolin looked at him.

He felt his eyes moving more slowly and deliberately as they started from his face, moved down, and came back up again.

"You’re staring at me, pervert," Ruaan said.

"I know," Harolin said, smirking.

Ruaan picked up his shampoo from the bed. "Are we not going to the bathroom?"

"It’s not midnight yet."

"So?"

"So I can’t wait until midnight." Harolin picked up his glasses from the bed, folded them and set them on the desk. "And the bathroom is too far."

Ruaan looked at the small sink on the side wall. The kind of sink that existed in facility rooms for rinsing hands and faces, and not much else.

"You want to wash my hair in that?" Ruaan said.

"I want to use your shampoo and help you," Harolin said. "And the sink happened to be there. So yes."

"But it’s for washing hands."

Harolin tilted his head. "Is that the only thing a sink is for?"

Ruaan considered this and tilted his head as he raised his shoulder. He walked to it.

He gripped both sides, leaned forward and tested the angle. The basin was deep enough, and the tap reached. If he arched his back slightly and let his head hang at the right position, it was actually workable.

He settled his weight against it.

"Oh! This is fine," he said, slightly surprised.

"I know," Harolin said, from directly behind him.

Ruaan felt him before he heard him move. The warmth of him close, not touching yet, just present. He reached past Ruaan and turned on the cold water.

Ruaan flinched at the temperature.

"Cold?" Harolin said.

"I’ll manage," Ruaan said. "Start from the roots and work down. Don’t miss the—"

His hands found Ruaan’s hair, and Ruaan stopped giving instructions.

Harolin’s fingers moved through his hair with attention like he was doing serious work. He started working from the roots outward, making sure the water reached everywhere before he reached back and held out his hand.

Ruaan passed him the shampoo.

He heard the cap open. He heard the specific sound of the product he had not smelled in weeks being poured into a palm. And then it was in his hair, both hands working through it. Immediately, the smell hit him, and he closed his eyes.

He had ordered that shampoo for the first time when he was nineteen and had not used anything else since. It smelled like something between cedar and clean air, and something he had never found a word for that he associated with mornings in his own bathroom in his own apartment before any of this.

He exhaled.

"Good?" Harolin said.

"Very," Ruaan moaned, eyes still closed.

Harolin worked the shampoo through properly. Ruaan kept his eyes shut, and his hands gripped on either side of the basin, and let him.

Suddenly, Harolin took a step closer and pressed his body against Ruaan. Ruaan almost flinched, but it was Harolin. He didn’t react much. He just couldn’t open his eyes with the shampoo over his hair and dripping down his face.

"You’re quiet," Harolin said.

"I’m enjoying it."

"Enjoying it, huh? Then I’ll continue..."

Harolin pressed harder, and Ruaan’s grip on the basin tightened slightly.

"Harolin."

"Mm."

"What was the thing you said earlier. About not being able to wait."

"I said I couldn’t wait until midnight."

"For what specifically?"

Harolin leaned forward.

His chest pressed against Ruaan’s back. The full warmth of him, from shoulders down, and underneath his hands still in Ruaan’s soapy hair, and lower than that, pressing against him through the fabric of his pants. It was a very specific answer to the question.

Ruaan exhaled through his mouth.

"Oh," Ruaan said.

"Now you know," Harolin said quietly against his ear.

"We should rinse first," Ruaan said. His voice had gone slightly different from how it had been thirty seconds ago. "The shampoo. Before it sets."

"I know," Harolin said. He did not move.

"Harolin."

"I said I know," he said again. One hand moved from Ruaan’s hair to the side of his jaw, tilting his head back slightly, and his mouth found the side of his neck just below where Dominic had seen the mark earlier.

Ruaan made a sound he had not planned to make. Harolin pressed his lips there and stayed.

"You’re not going to rinse?" Ruaan said.

"I’ll rinse," Harolin said against his skin. "Give me a moment."

"The shampoo—"

"Ru."

"What?"

"Stop talking about the shampoo."

Ruaan pressed his lips together. He could feel his boxers getting tighter. He couldn’t tell if it was because of Harolin pressed against him or the warmth of his thick voice against his ear.

Harolin’s warm hand moved from his jaw down his throat, across his collarbone, flat against his chest. His other hand still threaded through Ruaan’s hair, tilting his head back further so Ruaan was looking at the ceiling with his eyes closed and the cold water still running and the smell of his shampoo everywhere and Harolin’s cock solid behind him.

And then Harolin shifted as he adjusted his position. He pressed forward slowly and deliberately let Ruaan feel exactly what waiting until midnight would have delayed.

Ruaan’s fingers went white on the edges of the basin as his lower lip dragged between his teeth. His back arched on its own.

"Still want to talk about the shampoo?" Harolin asked calmly.

Ruaan exhaled something that was not quite a word.

"I’ll take that as a no," Harolin said.

Harolin’s hands moved from Ruaan’s chest, sliding down his stomach with a slow, agonising deliberation. Harolin didn’t rush; he wanted Ruaan to feel every inch of the anticipation. When his palm finally cupped the bulge in Ruaan’s pants, Ruaan let out a sharp, broken gasp, his forehead leaning harder against the cool porcelain of the sink.

Harolin didn’t take off his boxers immediately. Instead, he gripped the length of Ruaan’s cock through the fabric, squeezing firmly.

"Wet," Harolin said, voice a low rumble.

He swiped his thumb over the head, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had formed there. He brought his thumb to Ruaan’s mouth and tapped it against his bottom lip.

"Taste yourself," Harolin commanded.

Ruaan opened his mouth on instinct. The taste of himself burst across his tongue, salty and slightly bitter. He closed his lips around Harolin’s thumb and began to suck, unable to help himself.

"Good boy," Harolin praised. "Sucking my finger like you fucking mean it."

He began to rub, a rhythmic friction that sent sparks of heat straight to Ruaan’s gut. Harolin leaned in, his breath hot against Ruaan’s ear, his voice a low growl.

"You’re so hard for me, Ru. I can feel you pulsing."

Ruaan couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying to breathe, his lungs feeling tight as Harolin’s hand worked him. The contrast was maddening... the cold water still running over his scalp, the scent of cedar in the air, and the searing heat of Harolin’s palm grinding against him. Harolin shifted his hips, pressing his own thick cock against the crack of Ruaan’s ass, dry humping him with slow, heavy thrusts.

The double sensation... the friction on his front and the pressure on his back... pushed Ruaan over the edge. He began to moan, the sounds echoing in the room. He arched his back, pushing himself back into Harolin, desperate for more contact.

"Please," Ruaan whimpered, though he didn’t know what he was asking for, head falling back against Harolin’s shoulder. "I’m close...fuck..."

"Shhh! Just take it," Harolin whispered. "I know what you need."

He increased the speed of his hand, his grip tightening, pumping Ruaan with a ruthless efficiency. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head with every upstroke. Sparks of pleasure shot up Ruaan’s spine, coiling tighter and tighter in his gut. His thighs trembled, the muscles locking as his release approached.

"Cum for me, Ru," Harolin growled in his ear. "Cum in your boxers like the pretty slut you are. Show me how much you need it."

Ruaan’s world narrowed down to the feeling of Harolin’s body against his. He felt the build-up, the tension snapping in his lower belly. With one final, heavy thrust of Harolin’s hips and a fast, hard squeeze of his hand, Ruaan shuddered violently.

His words pushed Ruaan over the edge. With a choked cry, he came hard, spurting into Harolin’s fist in thick, pulsing streams. Harolin milked him through it, rubbing his thumb over his slit to prolong his pleasure.

When the last aftershock faded, Harolin released him and stepped back. Ruaan slumped against the sink, boneless and panting. The water still ran cold over his shampoo-soaked hair.

"You look good like this," Harolin said, voice rough with satisfaction. "Messy and well-fucked."

"I guess it’s my turn now," Harolin said.