Jones gasped as he felt Dan's soapy hands run over his nipples under the pretense of washing, although he was pretty sure that Dan didn't need to tease his nipples until they were achingly hard in order to clean them. But god, it felt good. He pressed back against Dan's chest, trying to steady himself on the wet tiles even though he was sure Dan's own footing was just as precarious.

The garbage bag taped over Dan's plastered leg rustled and Jones let out a breathy laugh that that particular sound was part of the soundtrack to their first naked time together in a month.

Dan had been so careful, so gentle, as he'd helped him to the bathroom and had left Jones alone to use the loo and brush his teeth whilst he went in search of a bag and tape for his leg, and the second he was out of the room Jones had begun the slow process of removing his clothes. By the time he got back Jones had freed himself from his tracksuit and was waiting by the shower, trying to breathe normally and not cover himself because Dan had been making himself vulnerable and Jones wanted to do the same for him.

It wasn't helpful that the Ashcroft's guest bathroom had a large mirror above the vanity which meant that Jones could see exactly how less than perfect his body looked.

The scars were barely formed. The stitches and staples had only been removed a few days ago and removing the dressings had been a little painful. The skin was fresh and shiny and scabbed in others and didn't seem like a real part of him. He had half expected it to wipe off when he touched one, but it'd just hurt instead. He tried not to count them all, because it made him want to cry and dig his fingernails into his palms just to distract himself because he looked like a Frankenstein reject, not to mention the fact that he was skinnier than a stray dog. Dan had promised he wasn't leaving but Jones needed him to see what it meant to stay.

When Dan opened the door and slipped in, locking it behind him, he'd frozen at the sight of Jones, naked and leaning against the glass wall of the shower. And Jones had believed in that moment that he'd actually changed his mind. He looked down to avoid having to see Dan's pity or worse, his distaste, but didn't want to look at himself, so closed his eyes instead. The space between them was too quiet but Jones couldn't place the feel of it, which was more frustrating than anything else. It felt thick but not murky or dark and it wasn't choking him, it was just...

And then Dan's fingers trailed up his arm, soft and sweet, and he smiled. Milk. The air and the silence around them was like milk - creamy and cool and a little strange, but not bad - just muted.

He'd felt Dan's lips as they placed kisses to his shoulder, soft as butterfly wings, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"You're so beautiful."

Dan's breath hitched against his shoulder and Jones felt his skin break out in goosebumps, his whole body quivering from the emotion pouring out of Dan like fizzy wine and the strain of keeping his body steady and upright. He tried to shake his head but Dan snarled possessively as he pressed his lips to Jones' neck.

"I'm-"

"You are."

"Dan-"

"I just want to kiss you," Dan replied in a low, rumbling tone. "But if it's going to make you uncomfortable, I'll stop. I want you to know that you're beautiful."

Jones felt the shivering get worse as he sagged against the glass but Dan tucked an arm around his waist and pulled him into a firm but careful hug.

"I like the kissing," Jones told him, pressing his nose to Dan's chest.

"Good," Dan replied. "Me too."

Dan had sat him down delicately on the side of the tub while he undressed himself and covered his cast but looked up sheepishly when he caught Jones watching him.

"What?"

Jones blinked. He'd been caught up thinking about how well Dan looked. He'd lost weight but he didn't look bad, he looked lean and Jones could see his arm and stomach muscles flexing as he moved, like waves rippling in the sea. He wondered whether Dan would take him swimming when summer came. That'd be genius.

"Nothing."

"Well that's a real ego stroker," Dan growled as he straightened up, rolling his broad, sloping shoulders but he gave Jones a crooked grin. "You stare at my naked body and all you think is 'nothing'?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Jones squealed and felt his heart begin to pound against his rib case as Dan hobbled over and kissed him chastely.

"I know. Come on, into the shower. You smell."

They'd entered the shower gingerly, both unsteady on their feet, but Jones felt himself relax under the hot spray. When Dan carefully maneuvered them both so that Jones was leaning against his chest whilst Dan cleaned him with aching tenderness Jones felt a heat begin to coil in his belly that only increased when he felt the stirring of Dan's erection against his lower back.

And now Dan was plucking at his nipples and kissing and sucking his neck and he could feel the intense heat of Dan's cock but he wasn't trying to touch Jones below the waist and he wasn't actually making a move. And it felt nice. It made him feel that he would actually be ok, and Dan was holding him so safe and his long fingered hands seemed to hold their own strange kind of electricity as they brushed against his skin and Jones felt the breath catch in his throat as he decided what he wanted to do. Dan had agreed that it was Jones who would set the pace after all.

He reached up to clasp one of Dan's hands in his own and slowly but firmly guided it lower. Dan swept his fingers over the hair of Jones' concave belly, covering him with suds and rubbing his palm over one of Jones' prominent hip bones. Jones tried to breathe evenly but it was difficult because Dan was nuzzling his neck, his own breath coming out in sobs as he began to rub his hand against Jones' thigh.

"Jones," he rasped, and Jones felt his back arch in response, completely independently of his brain. "I don't want... We're supposed to be not rushing."

Jones squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they could go and concentrated on the sensation of Dan's hand against his thigh, the movement sending thrills to his half-erect cock even though Dan hadn't even touched him there yet. He felt drunk. Like the world was shifting and expanding around him, moving every time he thought he was steady, and squeezing him until the pressure was so intense it forced a moan from his lips that was harsh and raw and which he barely recongised as his own.

"This ain't rushing," he gasped as Dan's hand moved in to stroke his inner thigh.

He tried to part his legs but it was too difficult and he didn't want to slip because he didn't want Dan to stop, but he wanted him to move his hand. Just a little closer.

"No?" Dan purred nipping his ear and sending shudders along Jones' spine which, even if they caused his healing bones and muscles to twinge, didn't make him want to stop.

"Nah," he breathed, lips shaking. "This is just what we agreed, right? 's just a shower wank. Just with... oh god Dan!... just with company, right?"

Dan's large hand took hold of his cock and Jones' ears were filled with his dark chuckle and he felt his brain begin to spin, like water down the plug hole. He tried to stop himself from sliding down against Dan, tried to stay upright, but all he could do was press himself against his lover and Dan moaned as his own cock was pushed against Jones' wet skin. He held them tight to one another as he began stroking Jones firmly, rocking himself forward until they were both panting raggedly and Jones found he couldn't open his eyes for the water pouring over them and all he could do was thrust weakly into Dan's hand until he came with a strangled, high pitched sob, trying not to collapse but unable to hold himself up. As the shockwaves died down Dan's hand left his spent penis and moved back up to his chest as he held Jones firm and rocked into him, the head of his cock sliding slickly against the curve of Jones' back.

He came with a gasp, shaking as his semen hit Jones' skin, rubbing against him as his chest heaved and his hands pressed against him almost too firmly. But Jones didn't mind. He felt like a weight had shifted, that the heavy stone that had been sitting in his belly was now, if not gone, at least a little lighter. But as he felt the weight lift the tears came, spilling over and burning his eyes only to be washed away by the shower, and he stumbled forward and pressed himself against the cold glass as he tried to convince his lungs to take in some air even though it ripped at his throat with each sob.

He didn't even know why he was crying but now that he'd started he couldn't stop. He was happy that he and Dan had been able to get off together. He'd wanted it, it had felt good, and they hadn't had to worry about angles or putting pressure on broken legs or anything. He'd wanted to do it, so why did he now feel like he was bobbing about in a sea of unwanted emotions?

He jumped when Dan's hand slid down his back, washing him clean and soothing all at once. He let himself be pulled back under the spray and when Dan kissed him their lips were wet and slippery and desperate and Jones grabbed at Dan's bicep as he bit the other man's lip, just enough to drag him in and push as much of their bodies together as he could.

"Jones," Dan gasped, trying to breath but just getting a mouth full of water instead. "You ok?"

"Fine," Jones panted back but Dan turned and switched off the water and ushered him carefully onto the bathroom mat before wrapping him in a large towel like he was a little kid. Like he was safe.

It made his heart hurt and he willed the tears not to start again but knew that Dan had seen.

"I'm sorry Jones," Dan whispered brokenly and Jones made himself look up at the man he loved, his brown curls dripping water into his eyes and down his tall, slender frame. He was beautiful, like some sort of mythic demigod - more than human with his glistening skin and brooding features - but sad too, and Jones wanted to hug him tight but settled for hugging the towel around himself instead.

"Don't be. I'm not."

"But-"

"But nothing," Jones said, a little too loudly but unable to control it.

"You cried," Dan pressed, reaching for a towel of his own and rubbing it harshly over his skin.

"Yeah," Jones huffed, then smiled and watched as Dan let his arm and the towel drop down to his side. "I cried. Like a proper big girl's blouse. But that doesn't mean it was a mistake."

Dan furrowed his brow and flicked his head to clear the wet curls from his vision but he looked at Jones in the way he always had, with his eyes open wider and less suspicious than normal and that not-quite-smile hidden beneath his stubble, and Jones took a deep breath, filling his lungs until they protested before continuing.

"I... was worried that I wouldn't be able to. Haven't had so much as a morning hard on since the accident. And I was scared that we wouldn't be able to make it work either, what with casts and braces and pinned bones and all the other shit..." Jones bit his lip, waiting to see if Dan would interrupt, but the other man remained silent, his eyes focused on the knot of scars on Jones' shoulder. "I'm still not ready to... do more than this. I just... It's a relief to know that I can. Oh, fuck now I'm gonna cry again."

He lifted the towel to his face and pressed it to his eyes, feeling like a toddler fresh from a bath, hiding in his towel as if it could keep out the cold air and delay the moment when he had to strip off in order to dress. Dan stepped forward and wrapped him up in a careful hug, sliding one hand into Jones' hair and the other around his waist, just holding him and letting Jones hear the throb of Dan's heart beat in the silent room, and feel the damp skin of Dan's chest against his cheek, anchoring him back down but not crushing him. Like a balloon around a child's wrist, he thought, free to bob and float while the child played but kept safe all the same. He wondered for a moment if that was how Dan saw him, like a balloon, bright and exciting but empty and stupid on the inside - and slowly deflating. But Dan would likely say, 'of course not,' and then get pouty over being likened to a child with a string tied to its wrist. Dan was good like that.

"Don't cry, Jones," he murmured as he stroked Jones' freshly washed hair. "You'll set me off and then I'll never stop..."

"...You take your tablets?"

"Yep. I'm being good, don't worry. And feeling sad's normal apparently, under the circumstances."

Jones burrowed his head more firmly into Dan and breathed in the scent of his skin. Dan always managed to smell like a half drunk cup of tea, gone slightly cold with the bag left in, even when he was shower fresh, and Jones wondered if it was because he'd consumed so much tea in the course of his life that it just seeped out through his pores at all times. By that logic Jones figured that he should probably smell of coffee, but he'd never quite figured out how to smell his own scent, other than checking his armpits for obvious sweat stink.

A kiss to his forehead snapped him out of his thoughts and Dan guided him back to sit on the edge of the tub to dry himself whilst Dan removed the tape and bag from his cast and finished toweling himself off.

"Let's get you dry and those new dressings on, hey?" he said softly and Jones nodded as he patted carefully at his chest with the towel. "Then when you're dressed I'll give you a tour of the coffee machine and make you a sandwich."

Jones had to grin at that. Dan Ashcroft, the king of uncaring, misanthropic cool, who'd once ruled the idiots and hated every second of it, who'd been hailed (against his will) as a self-destructive, twenty-first century, ironically detached hero... wanted to make him a sandwich. And was happy to trade sex for snuggles. And loved him, broken bits and all.