N.B.: Part Three of the Cleaning Anthology. Can we say, ‘Plot? What plot?’ ~RB

Normally, Trip loved his bathtub. After years serving on starships, where one was lucky to have a private shower, the three-person Japanese soaking tub with Jacuzzi fittings was an incredible luxury. He’d set up romantic bubble baths for his husband and himself on numerous occasions, and it was always a pleasure. Right now, however, he really wished he’d never installed the damn thing.

He was scrubbing the ring of soap scum that had accumulated in the tub, and he was not happy about it. He had just finished with the separate shower stall, and all the hunching over, crouching, and scrubbing was killing his back. Still, he couldn’t stop. Malcolm would kill him.

The Englishman had made disgusted noises that morning about the state of the bathroom, ‘suggesting’ to his husband that he might clean it – with special attention to tub and shower – while he himself did the laundry today. Trip recognised the look in Malcolm’s eyes that told him to agree, or sleep on the sofa until such time as he saw the light and did what he’d been told to do in the first place.

Recognising the better part of valour, Trip had started cleaning immediately after breakfast. It was now well past lunch, but he hadn’t dared to stop, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to make himself pick up again.

He was about to declare the tub done, when he saw a grimy little spot he’d missed on the side opposite. Determined not to crawl back in there, he spread his legs and leaned over, his stomach on the rim, bracing himself with a hand in the bottom of the tub. The unorthodox position was surprisingly comfortable because, while it put stress on his wrist, it stretched out his back wonderfully.

Trip was intent on eradicating the troublesome scum spot and didn’t realise that Malcolm had walked into the room until he felt the man’s hand on his upturned ass. Startled, he yelped in a most undignified manner and tried to right himself. He was stopped by his husband’s voice and touch.

“My, my, Trip… Don’t you just look delectable. Wet T-shirt, wet cut-off jeans, ass in the air as you scrub diligently.” Malcolm spooned against Trip, whispering into his ear. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you clean?”

“No, but I’m beginnin’ to realise you might see it that way.” He gasped as Malcolm nibbled at his ear, sucking the tender lobe between his teeth. Hands wormed their way up under his damp shirt and tweaked at his nipples, and he arched his back, setting his other hand on the bottom of the tub for support.

“Would you mind too terribly, love, if I were to fuck you right now?” Malcolm’s right knee rubbed up and down the inside of Trip’s thigh, eliciting another moan and further spreading of the long legs.

“Oh, please.”

It was all his husband needed. Malcolm’s busy hands immediately set to divesting Trip of his shorts and underwear. There was a rustling as the man dropped his own pants, and a pause as he grabbed for the nearest bottle of bath oil and spread the contents onto his erect phallus. Then, Trip was pushing back onto that glorious cock, helping his husband to penetrate him.

Hands firmly grasping Trip’s hips, Malcolm started thrusting into the beloved body with long, sweeping strokes. He struck the Southerner’s prostate repeatedly, and the blonde man screamed in pleasure. Trip hit his peak then, and Malcolm slammed into his own orgasm when Trip’s body tightened greedily around him.

The pair straightened, and Malcolm slid out of his husband reluctantly. Trip turned around, leaning back against the tub weakly, and pulled the beautiful little brunette in for a kiss.

“Course, now I gotta clean the outside of the tub.”

Malcolm looked down, eyeing the cum dribbling down the wood on the tub’s exterior. “I can do that. My fault, anyway.”

Trip let him take the soapy sponge from his hand, and gave him another kiss. “Thanks. We oughtta clean the bathroom together next time.”

“Mmm… I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“We’d never get it done.”

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