Downpour, by Mr Grey

Adrien stood at his open window watching the rain and hearing the thunder, a cigarette slowly burning between his fingers. Below, the rain tore through the narrow streets of Paris like it was chasing secrets.

And then he heard the front door slam.

He didn’t flinch—he knew who it was. Julien.

Adrien turned just as he felt him enter the room and there he was: drenched, breathless, lit from behind by the dim hallway light. Rain clung to him like a second skin, his soaked T-shirt nearly transparent, stuck to every line of his chest. His curls dripped water down his face. His eyes locked on Adrien like he was a problem he’d decided to stop avoiding.

“You’re soaked,” Adrien said, flicking ash out into the storm.

Julien didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell like he’d run the whole way there. Maybe he had.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, almost to himself.

“But you are.”

The silence between them tightened. Adrien stepped away from the window, tossing his cigarette to burn itself out in the rain.

Julien didn’t move.

Adrien reached him slowly, fingers grazing the edge of his collar. “You’re freezing.”

Julien looked at him bewitched, like someone who hadn’t slept in days. “Putain! I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hung there—humid, undeniable.

Adrien kissed him. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat. Julien responded with a thirst that had clearly been bottled up far too long. Their bodies pressed together, wet clothes clinging to skin. The room darkened with steam, not from any pipe—just the way desire rearranged the air.

Adrien tugged at Julien's shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Then get me out of the rest.”

Adrien’s grin was wicked. “Bathroom. Now.”

The shower hissed to life, steam pouring from the stall in seconds. They stepped inside together, the water cascading down like a curtain, sealing them off from everything but touch.

Adrien pushed Julien gently against the tiled wall. His hands ran over his chest, slowly, reverently. “You’ve been holding this in, haven’t you?”

Julien nodded, eyes half-lidded.

Adrien leaned in, lips brushing Julien’s jaw, then neck, then lower. He took his time, exploring with hands, with mouth, with breath. Julien’s head tilted back against the wall, a soft groan escaping him.

The steam curled around them like smoke. They moved in rhythm now—guided by instinct more than thought. Julien’s hands explored every part of Adrien’s back, gripping, sliding, learning him like the English language. Their kisses deepened, desperate and slow, bodies tangled beneath the spray.

The water turned cooler, but neither of them cared.

“Turn around,” Julien whispered, his voice thick.

Adrien obeyed.

There was something about surrender in that moment that made him tremble—in a good way. Julien pressed up behind him, their skin slick with water, with sweat, with thirst. His lips brushed the back of Adrien’s neck, then stayed there, hot breath against damp skin.

Everything after was motion, sound, rhythm. A shared pulse. They moved like they’d done hundreds of times before - but now with the energy of two men who’d denied themselves this for so long. 

When they came down from it, they stood in silence, water washing over them. Adrien leaned back into Julien’s chest, letting the moment stretch. His heartbeat slowly returned to normal, though his mind hadn’t caught up yet.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Adrien said, voice low.

“I was,” Julien replied, pressing a soft kiss to Adrien’s shoulder. “I can't not feel like this.”

They stepped out of the shower, dripping and spent. Julien wrapped a towel around Adrien’s waist, pausing just long enough for one last look. He wouldn't be able to stay the night, but they would being doing this again. 

As Julien left, Adrien moved back to the window to light another cigarette and process the scene that had just played out. He looked out into the city and hoped the rain would never stop.