You know you've got it bad when even the sight of your lover brushing his teeth turns you on. Never mind the fact he's just in his boxers.
I lean up against the frame of the bathroom door, fold my arms across my chest and study his face in the mirror, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
But yeah, the toothbrush... that steady, rhythmic in-and-out motion, the way his lips pout just a little as they follow the handle, the way the fussed-up toothpaste forms white spit foam, some slowly escaping down his chin...
I'm naked, but I don't care. He hasn't noticed it yet. Or me. Plus, it's a perfectly natural reaction.
He starts at the outside of his upper teeth, unaware he's inadvertently controlling my blood flow. It's a pleasure to watch, to fantasize a little. 'course, I could do without the twisting motion he uses to swipe at his gums. I wouldn't object to a little wrist action, though.
But, I know what's coming, now that he's switching to his downstairs molars, working forward. Never fails. Wanna see?
...wait for it... wait for it...
There! There! Did you see? Did you see him wince?
I feel kinda guilty about that, even years after the fact. See, once, Heero and I traded blows. Don't look at me; it was his great idea. He didn't bust any of my guts, but I got some impressive bruises. Same for him. Besides, I didn't knock his teeth out - my punch only rattled the roots. An undercover Preventers assignment gone bad was when he lost two teeth.
We saved his ass, but not his perfect dental record. A fair trade, I'd say. The bridge in his lower left jaw does its job, and like the anal-retentive bastard he can be, Heero follows the dentist's recommendation to keep the area meticulously clean beyond the threshold of comfort. His gums on that side have grown really sensitive. At first, I thought it kinda cool to play with during kisses, but after that one time he nearly bit my tongue off...
Takes me a moment to realize he's stopped, glares at me in the mirror, mouth agape, brush coming out. "What you looking at?" he mutters, another smear of white escaping the corner of his mouth. The quick glance and the way he tenses up means he just noticed.
Damn, I love him. "Oh, nothing..." I say as innocently as I can, taking the five steps necessary to reach him. I put one palm against his flat stomach and shove the other down his boxers, seeking, finding, caressing.
He closes his eyes, groans, growls "Duo..." as the brush clatters against the sink.
Like I'd be deterred by something that feeble. Plus, he wants it too, his big-brain just haven't caught up with the rest of his body yet.
And his body is very responsive. It's not just his gums that have grown sensitive.
I walk us back two steps, he follows, but gives me a questioning look in the mirror.
I smirk back. "You still have to rinse and spit, right?"
He starts to frown, flags one brow before he briefly closes his eyes, makes a crooked smile and snorts.
As he bends forward, his boxers pool around his ankles, and I grind my crotch against him, causing the first mouthful of water to nearly spurt outside the sink.
Yeah, so I'm an impatient bastard - but he can be damn pushy when he's horny, too.
He hurriedly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, places his palms at the porcelain edges. "Go," he says to the mirror, a shaky command at best.
I grin, more than willing to comply.
Oh, and in case you're wondering?
But never toothpaste.