"I'm fine," Duke finished, a little late and a little lamely. It might have even been a little insincere if he'd had time enough to think about it.

"Uh. I thought you fell. Or something." Tristan continued to stare at through the unruly spray of water, but he was blushing furiously and Duke could see that he was trying very hard not to look down. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the downturned corners of his lips. Well, what more could he want? A fucking gold foil-embossed invitation?

Duke leaned over, very well aware of the view he offered as he did so, and turned off the water.

"Tristan."

"Hm?" Tristan replied intelligently. A drop of water rolled down out of Duke's soaked hair, across his temple and caressed the curve of his jaw, and went on to slide down his throat to disappear in the sheen that glazed his skin. He fought off the desire to lean in and lick that moisture away. His blush spread from his cheeks to his ears.

Duke reached out with one damp, lightly flushed hand and pushed the flirty curls of rich brown hair away from his friend's brilliantly red ears. His smile broadened. A dimple showed.

A much broader and stronger hand than his clamped over his own, trapping it where it lay against Tristan's cheek. "Dev," Tristan protested, asking with a syllable to go no further. But the protest was weak; getting weaker.

"You can't blame the beer this time, Tris. I am coming on to you."

"But you! You're…" Tristan struggled for an excuse to duck away. He didn't want to duck away, honest to God, but he was strangling in the grip of those green, green eyes, and in a few seconds it wasn't going to be safe anymore.

But it already wasn't safe anymore. Humans do strange things for even stranger motivations, and he'd think about that later. Regardless of the 'why,' what he wanted, and what he'd wanted for a little more than twelve months was…this.

Thank God that he chose to ignore his irrational brain for a moment to pay attention to a lower part of him that had far fewer scruples.

The 'why' was painfully easy to understand, at any rate. Especially after Tristan felt the damp slide of Duke's arms soaking into the collar of his work shirt. The porcelain barrier of the tub wall separated them, but in a breath his arms snatched around Duke's waist and hauled him over. He was off balance already – in more ways than one – and he slipped as they spun, dropping heavily to one knee and then his rump. It didn't matter, because Duke was in his lap and the slick naked wetness of his skin was distraction enough to forget the momentary pain.

They moved together, like men who had spent their youth in one another's company. Duke reached up and roughly grasped his jaw, gasping for air against his lips and plunging in.

The twin rasps of breath filled the small, humid space. Tristan smelled of grease and metal, and his hands were gritty with it. Duke didn't care. He knew that scent…knew what Tristan smelled like and how he walked. How his knuckles whitened on the throttle and how the ridges of his spine felt through his tee shirt, clutched tight against his chest when they used to ride together on Tristan's bike.

Tristan pulled back. Duke barely silenced a frustrated growl.

Only to have him returned, kisses tender and slow, no hands touching, only the soft skin of his wrists and forearms. He was dirty. He didn't want to get the other guy dirty. Oh…Tristan…

"I shouldn't," Tristan started, and didn't finish as he pulled away again.

Duke swore under his breath. "Oh yes, you should," He insisted.

"But I-" Tristan squirmed, and tried to fight his way up. Perhaps the darkhaired man was somewhat lighter than he was by a long shot, but there was something to be said for pure stubborn will.

"Dammit, touch me!" Duke growled in frustration, leaned back and yanked his towel off of the counter without looking up. Jerking and tense with lust on the knife edge of aggravation, Duke pulled Tristan's hands around his waist to wipe the grit off. "It's not going to be perfect every time. It never is." He looked up from his work once. "Will you stop it? I don't care if you're dirty, or I have a hangover. Or if it's too cold or too hot or we're in the wrong place. I don't care."

"Dev-"

"Just touch me!" He tossed the towel away, braced his hands against Tristan's shoulders and shoved him down onto the chilly tile. Tristan yelped at the intense cold on his warm skin.

"You're such a wuss." The words were a caress.

"Am not."

And they were kissing again, Duke moaning into Tristan's parted lips as at last, hands brushed his spine. First hesitant, and then with a will, the alien, familiar blunt fingernails dragged over his skin. Duke gripped Tristan's chin, fascinated by the rolling interplay of muscles in his jaw. He rocked his hips against the other's jeans, and gasped as painfully sensitive flesh objected to the abrasion.

"Now who's a wuss?" Tristan asked with a smirk, lost and muffled somewhat in the heat of mouths.

Duke mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'asshole' and ripped his shirttail out, shoving the fabric up.

There was still an element of tension surrounding them…a question that neither dared ask, and neither could or would answer. What would happen after this?

Tristan tensed and moaned, letting his body arch while now-moist lips slid over the smooth warmth of his chest. He curled up to let Duke draw the offending shirt over his head. He was sweating. At least the floor wasn't so cold anymore. His hands slid up and down alone the naked curve of the other's back, as Duke's hair spilled down across Tristan's arm and shoulder, dripping a sopping puddle on the tile.

"Is this why you came?" Tristan asked in a husky whisper, as another nibble made him arch yet again.

"Don't." Duke's head shot up, his gaze still dark and glazed with lust, but now narrowed and dangerous. He clawed open the catch of Tristan's jeans, and without thinking, the brunette sucked in his stomach and raised his hips to help.

Nothing separated them but air now.

In breaths, not even that.

Duke gasped at the touch of Tristan's hands, and the bathroom and the city and the world blurred at the edges. Pulses pounded, and blood roared in their ears.

The tension was building again. If they hadn't been panting, they would have held their breath. Tristan found a stab of worry and regret and fear – where was this going to end up? Then Duke's lips were tracing up his jaw, and hard hands latched onto his shoulders. Brown eyes met green and found the same fear mirrored in their depths, but they were too far gone to stop.

And whether they liked it or not…it was too late…

They collapsed together on the bathroom floor.

"Fuck."

"Eh?" was Duke's unintelligent response.

Tristan shoved him off of his chest and fought to sit up. "Dammit, this wasn't supposed to happen!"

Green eyes blinked in uncertainty. "What was supposed to happen?" He asked, a little sharper than he'd intended, and pushed back onto his haunches. Stared hard at Tristan.

"I don't know," Tristan cast around for what the ideal was supposed to have been, and couldn't find it. "just not this!"

"Well, you didn't act like it wasn't supposed to happen," Duke retorted, pushing wet straggles of dark hair out of his face and thrusting aggressively to his feet. "that was pretty good, for 'not supposed to happen,'"

"It was too soon!" Tristan protested from the floor, and struggled to rise as well. He snapped his jeans up and held them in front of his crotch in a wad, clutched between twisting clenched fists.

"It's always too soon. Or too cold, or too late, or there's too many people around…" Duke gestured airily with one hand, and snatched for a towel from the counter beside him. Tristan couldn't help but notice how thin his ex had gotten in the past year, remembering how those ribs had slithered with muscle. But he was slimmer now, ribcage sprung in prominence against his skin and far beyond what was healthy. What the hell had Duke been doing to himself? "…else that ruins the mood…Tris, are you even listening to me?"

"Hm?" He tore his eyes away from the standing ribs under Duke's skin. "Yeah…yeah!"

Duke snorted at him in disgust. "You're so full of shit. This is why we split up!" He hid his body in the thick folds of terry and glanced at the waiting clothing on the floor a touch impatiently. When was Tristan going to get the hell out of the bathroom so he could get dressed? The thought of the brunette's scrutiny as he bent naked after his jeans was suddenly too embarrassing to think about.

He didn't have too long to wait. Tristan's shoulders squared at the taunt, and he slammed out the bathroom door. Every movement was jerky and forceful with anger.

Heavy footsteps thudded away. Another door slammed somewhere distant.

Silence fell.

Duke sagged in a wave of exhaustion against the counter, towel dropped forgotten to the floor.