Smooth Move

Steam curled thick against the ceiling, softening the edges of everything until the shower felt less like a bathroom and more like a place removed from the rest of the apartment. Water drummed steadily against tile and skin, heat sinking deep into muscle, loosening the last stubborn knots of sleep.

Morning showers.

That was new.

Craig tilted his head back, letting the water run through his hair, eyes closed, face angled into the spray. Habit still hadn't quite caught up with the change. For years, mornings had been rushed, practical; roll out of bed, throw something on, get to work. The real cleanup came after, when the warehouse had finished with him. Dust in his lungs, sweat in his clothes, that deep, satisfying exhaustion earned the hard way.

Only none of that applied anymore. Craig was no longer a warehouse worker. What he was... well... it was not really anything that made clean, simple sense.

A slow exhale slipped out as his hands dragged through his hair, working in the shampoo. Floral. Of course it was. Sweet, soft, something that clung gently rather than cutting clean like the stuff he used to buy. Frank's bottle was gone entirely. No backup. ****.

"Figures," Craig muttered under his breath.

Fingers worked the lather through, the scent building as the steam carried it. Not unpleasant. That was almost worse. His hair felt different already, softer beneath his hands, like the product had a purpose beyond just getting him clean.

Same with the soap.

Lavender, maybe. Hard to pin down exactly, but it left a faint trace behind as it slid across his skin. There was something else in it too. Moisturizer, if he had to guess. His hands passed over his arms, his chest, his stomach, and everything felt smoother. Less like skin that had spent years taking **** and more like something maintained.

Another change. Another quiet adjustment.

Craig reached blindly for the faucet, adjusting the temperature a fraction hotter, then let himself stand there for a moment. Just breathing. Just existing. Trying not to think.

That never lasted.

Daniel Mercer's voice crept back in, uninvited and annoyingly clear.

Nails first thing tomorrow.

A scoff left Craig's throat, half swallowed by the water.

Right. Because that was a priority now. Not workflow. Not logistics. Not anything resembling the job he thought he'd signed up for. Nail polish. A bra. Dress code policies that sounded like they'd been pulled out of a completely different reality.

"Unreal," he muttered.

One hand reached out, more out of habit than intention, brushing against the small shelf in the shower stall. Plastic met his fingers.

The razor that had been on the bathroom sink the day before. Pink. Sleek. Sitting there as if the shower had always been its home.

A quick pass of his hand over his jaw confirmed it: stubble. Not much, but enough. With a quiet sigh, Craig grabbed the can of shaving cream beside it, popping the cap off with his thumb. Skintimate. Of course it was.

A small amount dispensed into his palm. Foam spread easily across his face, cool against the heat of the shower. No mirror. Didn't matter. He'd done this enough times.

Short, careful strokes. Rinse. Repeat.

The rhythm came back instantly. Muscle memory carrying him through without effort. Within a minute, his face was smooth again, clean and familiar under his fingertips.

Razor set aside. Water again. Heat again. For a moment, that was enough.

Until his thoughts drifted.

Frank.

Dinner the with his mother night before. Or at least an attempt at one. Craig hadn't been there, but it was easy enough to picture. Frank trying to be reasonable, trying to make a case. His mom sitting across from him, half-listening, half-defensive, already too invested in whatever she'd found with that guy.

Would it even matter?

People didn't back away from something new and exciting just because someone else pointed out the flaws. Especially not love. Or whatever passed for it.

Craig frowned slightly, shifting his weight. Was it even his place to care? It wasn't his family. Not really. Still...

A small shake of his head. Not his problem to solve.

Water traced down his body, and without thinking, his stance shifted, heels lifting even more, weight settling onto the balls of his feet. Natural now. Comfortable, even.

That was still bizarre. Once upon a time, standing like that for more than a few seconds would've meant cramping, instability, a quick adjustment back to flat feet. Now?

Nothing.

Balance held effortlessly. No strain. No slipping, even with water pooling beneath him. He flexed his feet, stood as high as he could on his toes. Not a hint of a lack of stability. Add it to the list of insane things that had happened to him inthe past week.

His gaze dropped briefly, though the steam blurred most of the detail. Nothing obvious had changed that morning. No new furniture. No new clothes scattered around the room when he woke up. No sudden, jarring additions like the days before.

Everything had been the same. Which should've been a relief, but wasn't. If anything, it sat wrong in a different way. Like a pause before something bigger. Like Eros had taken a step back, not because he was done, but because he was setting something up.

Craig didn't like that. Didn't like it at all.

The can in his hand tilted again. More foam. Except this time, it didn't go to his face. Without really registering the decision, his hand moved lower, spreading the shaving cream across his thigh. Smooth motion. Even coverage. The razor followed a second later, gliding upward in a clean stroke.

Water rinsed it away.

Another pass.

Another.

Thoughts kept moving.

The job. That ridiculous, impossible job. Folding laundry in an office building. Baking cookies for executives. Answering phones like a receptionist while being told he was management.

And the pay.

God, the pay.

That part almost made it worth it. Almost made everything else feel tolerable. Temporary. Like maybe he could just ride it out, take the money, ignore the rest.

Another stroke. Another rinse. Foam spread higher. Inner thigh now. Careful, precise movements.

What was the plan? There had to be one. Eros didn't just hand things out for free. Yes, Craig had already sacrificed so much of his masculinity, his clothes, his room, even how he stood. But none of that added up to a soulmate.

The razor moved again, slower now. More deliberate. Craig shifted his stance slightly, giving himself better access to his pubic hair without even thinking about it.

Frank's mom. Daniel. The office. The quiet, creeping changes that never stopped....

Water ran clear over newly smoothed skin.

The razor paused.

Craig blinked.

Looked down.

Really looked.

Bare.

Clean.

His hand still held the razor.

His other rested against his thigh, fingers brushing over skin that felt different. Smoother than it had any right to be.

A beat.

Then two.

Realization hit all at once.

"What the fuck?"

The words came out sharp, cutting through the steady sound of the water.

Eyes tracked downward again, taking in the full picture now. Legs. Completely shaved. Not patchy. Not half-done.

Done.

And higher, his groin completely smooth. No hairs around his penis. None on his testicles.

Smooth.

"Fuck."

Louder this time.

The razor dropped back against the shower floor with a soft clatter as Craig just stood there, water running over him, trying to piece together when... how...

He hadn't even noticed. Not until it was finished. A hand dragged down his face, pushing wet hair back as he let out a long, frustrated breath.

"Unbelievable..."

Another line crossed. Another thing taken out of his hands without him even realizing it.

The water shut off with a sharp twist of the handle. Steam lingered as Craig reached for a towel, wrapping it around himself before stepping out carefully, still balanced on the balls of his feet without thinking.

Everything felt different. And not in a way he could ignore anymore. Another curse word slipped out under his breath as he headed for the bedroom, mind already jumping ahead to the next problem waiting for him there.

The work dress code still needed addressing. He still had a bra to pick out.

Yeah.

Today was going to be a problem.